


Everybody Wants To Rule The World

by fudebusho



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudebusho/pseuds/fudebusho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers AU:  </p><p>Loki wants to rule the world via the power of the Tesseract.  Unfortunately, he hasn't really thought it through.<br/>Darcy Lewis wants to save the world via the power of Political Science.  Unfortunately, she hasn't really thought it through.</p><p>This is their story - a story about a lack of planning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Road Trip

It starts, of all places, in a gas station. 

A gas station at the farthest edge of the farthest sparsely-populated area which might reasonably be called a suburb of Oklahoma City, which in and of itself (once upon a time) would have been the farthest place from Darcy Lewis’ reality, but.  Well.  Things happened.  People came.  _Crazy hot aliens_ came.  Crazy hot aliens went.  People went.  Reality went out the window, and Darcy stayed behind – until it was clear that it was time to leave.  Or time for _her_ to leave, anyway, to find her way back to reality, _her_ reality, six science credits be damned.

So it is here that she finds herself, in a threadbare convenience store attached to a threadbare gas station in this windswept, threadbare outpost of civilization, the majestic desert landscape of New Mexico having given way to nothing but flat, flat, flat open spaces and sky and _nothing_ , nothing but this interstate that she’s been driving for hours and hours (and will keep driving for _days_ , most likely), all by herself in Jane’s ( ~~borrowed~~ ~~stolen~~ _borrowed,_ okay, because Jane freaking _disappeared,_ like Erik before her) rickety white van, and fuck her life if she’s not almost _excited_ to drive through Oklahoma City.

Oklahoma City.  As _if_. 

But she _is_ excited, a little bit, for real, because she’s never actually been there before, and even if she’s only driving through there are certain to be lots of other people around.  Other people who might not all be either crazy hot aliens or whacked-out shadowy pseudo-government operatives, and there might also be tall buildings, and decent radio stations (if she’s lucky) and decent food (if she’s luckier) and maybe, who knows, maybe she’ll find a nice, inexpensive, anonymously suburban motel – one that’s not attached to a truckstop and therefore practically an invitation to be mugged, raped and/or murdered - and actually get some _sleep_.  And a _shower_.  Oh, god, a real shower, with an endless supply of hot water and those cute little shampoo bottles that she always winds up stealing.

So she hums to herself in happy anticipation at thoughts of soft beds and adorable miniature toiletries just ripe for the picking and actually does a little dance of glee (which really just consists of bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet a bit), just enough to burn off the sudden burst of energy - but not enough to actually catch the attention of the grumpy, wide, leathery-faced old woman behind the cash register who’d use Darcy’s hip-shake as an excuse to give her the stink eye _again_.  First, though, she’s going to get something to drink with the two dollars that she has coming back from filling up the van and then, she thinks, (drumroll please) she is going to _get this show on the road_.  To Oklahoma City.  Oh yes.  It’s gonna be epic.

Except, of course, that’s when Loki finds her, leaning face-first into the cooler, her head wedged into the glass door and her ass blocking the narrow, dusty aisle, debating the relative merits of Diet Coke (ahh, the old standby) vs. Red Bull (wakey-wakey!) vs. Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper ( _hello_ , high-fructose corn syrup, but _yum_ ) and she’s still humming to herself and so intent on not screwing up the monumental decision that is her next drink that she doesn’t even notice yet another crazy hot alien appearing out of thin air behind her.  That is, until he speaks.

“Darcy Lewis.”

Darcy freezes at the sound of her name, spoken by a voice that she does not recognize, with an accent that she cannot place, in a gas station where nobody, and she means _nobody_ , should know where she is.  She wonders for a split second if the voice belongs to a cop and she is about to be busted for grand theft auto, but realizes that there’s no way that any policeman in freaking _Oklahoma_ could possibly sound like _that_ and that furthermore, there was nobody left in Puente Antiguo to report Jane’s van missing – unless Jane came back from wherever she’d disappeared to, or Erik did, and Darcy had left a note besides. 

( _J - wtf, it’s been two weeks, where the hell have you been!?! I’m going back to school.  CALL ME. –D.  ps, borrowing the van, you can have it back_.) 

So.  Not a cop, then.

The power-point preso in her head flashes ahead to the next worst-case scenario:  one of those aforementioned whacked-out shadowy pseudo-government operatives that messed with Jane and _stole her iPod_.  But (she hopes) they’ve really got better things to do than pick on totally innocent, nearly-broke college students ( _Who ‘borrow’ vans_ , a shadowy part of her brain whispers) in the middle of freaking _Oklahoma_.  After all, they already took her iPod, and she cannot think of any reason why they would be after her now.  Especially since the van is a total piece of shit. 

Right. She can deal with this.

She pushes down her rising panic and exhales hard, blinking, and very carefully straightens up and very carefully does not whack her head on the glass door of the cooler as she very carefully turns around.  Because that’s totally something that she would do, and she’s decided that it is very important to be calm, cool and collected in this situation.  Whatever this situation is. 

Until she actually sees the owner of that voice, and the words _calm_ , _cool_ and _collected_ suddenly aren’t in her vocabulary any more.  Because it’s not some Secret Service wannabe, leaning casually against a shelf full of faded, dusty bags of fried pork rinds, it’s some extraordinarily tall (extraordinarily _hot,_ that same shadowy part of her brain whispers) dude dressed like an extra from a Queensryche video, if metal rock-opera video extras have crazy bright eyes and crazy wide smiles and generally look just kinda … well, _crazy_.

 _Crazy hot alien_ , her brain helpfully provides, and she doesn’t know for certain but she thinks that it’s probably right, and suddenly she wants to kick her internal power-point preso because _this_?  This is the #1 worst-case scenario, right here.

“Um.” Her voice sounds kind of strangled and she clears her throat.  “I, ahem, no, sorry.  I think that you might have me mixed up with someone else.  I kind of get that a lot –”

He laughs then, a low evil chuckle through artfully pursed lips.  He narrows his eyes and straightens his stance to loom menacingly over her.

“Foolish girl,” he rumbles in a low tone, “your falsehood is neither plausible nor convincing.  I am well aware that you are unquestionably the very person whom I seek.” 

He straightens his arm, which until now has been loosely dangling at his side, his hand partially hidden by his long leather coat-like-thingy and flowing green cape (a _cape!_ ) and Darcy’s eyes widen in alarm as she sees a short spear, its menacingly curved tip glowing blue, suddenly in view.  “You will come with me at once.”

“The hell you say,” she gasps, and does a sort of sideways lurch so that she can yank the cooler door back open and duck behind it, swinging it into the arm holding the spear as she scoots backwards and darts around the nearest shelving unit.  She quickly calculates the distance (about twenty feet) and number of obstacles (the candy aisle, a display made up of stacked beer cases, a spinner rack of ancient dog-eared greeting cards) between her current position and the door.  She wishes she had her taser, currently tucked safely in her bag _in the van_ , but why would she have thought that she’d need it, how could she have expected to bump into yet another crazy alien here in a shitty gas station in bum-fuck _Oklahoma_?

“Shit,” she breathes, and he laughs again, a little louder, and suddenly, somehow, materializes _right in front of her_.  “Shit!” she screeches this time, and takes a wobbly step backwards as he raises the spear.  “Don’t kill me!  I didn’t do anything!  I swear!”  She risks a glance over to the cash register, where the bitchy old battle-axe is staring out the window, completely ignoring Darcy and _the crazy guy with the spear_.  “Hey!  Help!  Call 911!  Please!”

He follows her line of vision and chuckles again.  “It appears that your would-be rescuer is somewhat … preoccupied.”  She does a double take and notices that the old woman is stock-still facing the window, not moving _at all_ despite the commotion, and that the one other person in the vicinity (outside at the gas pumps) is frozen in place as well.  Loki’s gaze returns to her, sharp and assessing, and she now knows what a mouse feels like when it first sees the cat.

“Please!”  Darcy’s voice is shaking now, along with her whole body, and she’s starting to feel jittery from fear and adrenaline.  “Please, I don’t know what you want, just don’t kill me, please,” and she’s aware that she is babbling as she tries to imperceptibly back away from the pointy tip of the spear, its eerie blue glow now even brighter, looking out of the corners of her eyes for something, _anything_ to put in between her and certain painful doom.

He grins then, back to the wide-eyed crazy, and the spear edges ever closer to her chest.  He’s moving much too slowly to stab her, though, and she thinks for a minute _he’s not going to kill me_.  Still, she wants no part of whatever is about to go down, and before she can even think about it she’s grabbed a box of candy bars from the shelf and flung the contents in his general direction.  He snarls in surprise as the ( _Twix, awesome_ , her stupid brain not-so-helpfully supplies) bars bounce from his leather-clad chest with soft _thwaps_ and plop to the ground, but by then she’s made it to the beer cases and is just feet from the door.

 _Keep moving, keep moving_ , she repeats over and over in her head as she blindly scrambles for the exit, but just as her fingertips reach the metal handle she’s jerked back, _hard_ , by her hair.  “Ow!” she yelps. “Fuck, really?”

Another vicious yank and she falls backward, expecting to land with a painful thud on the floor but instead collides with what (she assumes) is her assailant’s chest. 

“ _Language_ , Darcy Lewis,” he grinds out as he hauls her upright and spins her around by the head, his black-gloved hand fisted in her hair, and she wants to laugh and cry at the same time at the sheer incongruity of being _beaten up_ in a _gas station_ in fucking _Oklahoma_ by a _crazy alien_ while simultaneously scolded for her potty-mouth.  “Would that the Tesseract sanitize your filthy tongue.”  He raises the spear to her chest and she pulls helplessly against his tight grip on her head.  “Be still, you foolish girl,” he hisses, “You have wasted enough of my time with your futile struggles!”

A hysterical giggle bubbles up in her throat as the sharp tip of the spear touches her chest.  She shies back instinctively and he growls, jabbing her once again.  She jerks away once more and his hand pulls her hair even tighter, bending her neck awkwardly in a shooting spiral of pain, forcing her giggle into a squeak as she closes her eyes so that she doesn’t have to watch as her chest is sliced open. 

 _Think, think, think_ , the chant repeats in her mind, and just as she feels something warm and tingly and _weird_ buzz against her sternum, she realizes that she still has a can of cold Red Bull in her other hand.  _It’s all fizz by now_ , she thinks.  She pulls back from the spear again and with trembling hands lifts the can up, up, up, above her head and into the face of her captor.  She yanks the tab and hears him roar as the super-carbonated spray hits him squarely in the eyes, the spear clattering on the tile floor as his hands instinctively move to his face. 

This time, arms and legs pumping, she makes it outside, heaving the glass door open with all her might and scrambling across the parking lot to the van as the frozen-in-place truck driver outside jolts free from whatever had held him, blinking in surprise.  He barely makes it out of the van’s path as she guns it and floors it with one panicked stomp of the accelerator, swinging out of the parking lot and onto the access road with tires squealing and horn blaring.  She doesn’t even risk a look back, doesn’t see Loki appear in the driveway behind her, energy drink dripping from his sticky face and a snarl on his lips.

“Next time, Darcy Lewis, I will not be quite as lenient.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Google Maps pegs the drive time from Oklahoma City to the Culver University campus in Virginia as nineteen hours and some change.  Darcy makes it in just over sixteen; bleary-eyed, hungry and shaking from exhaustion.  She stopped only for gas and bathroom breaks, half-expecting her intergalactic tormentor to show up at every grungy rest stop along the way and finish his task of killing her.  _Or worse_ , she shudders, the image of the glowing blue spear and the corresponding expression on his face etched into her memory. 

The chatter on news radio had started to pick up by the time she reached Nashville – reports were still garbled and sketchy, filled with speculation and hyperbole, but she was able to piece together the gist of it:  a whole bunch of scary-ass aliens appeared over Manhattan and basically laid the city (along with a huge chunk of the populace) to waste.  Their commander – her assailant, she is sure, based on the voice clips – has now proclaimed himself the Supreme Leader of Midgard and is demanding that all humankind submit to his rule.  Darcy understands enough about how the military-industrial complex operates to realize that the powers that be must be clamping the lid down on this turn of events, but if this much mayhem is leaking out to the mainstream media despite their best efforts then the situation must be even worse than they’re letting on.

 _Crazy.  Just. Fucking. Crazy._   She shudders again as she cruises through the parking lot nearest her apartment, maneuvering the van down the narrow, overcrowded aisles.  Like just about every college campus in the universe, Culver doesn’t have enough parking spaces for the number of students enrolled and she can’t find a single open spot.  She’ll have to try the garage, then – _just what I need right now_ , she thinks, _a fucking hike across the quad while schlepping all of my stuff._   Five minutes later, she pulls into the garage, hoping against hope that the van’s roof doesn’t smash into the low concrete ceilings, and begins the slow, careful process of spiraling her way to the top. 

It’s just after 6:00 a.m. and the garage is deserted, which is pretty normal for a regular Sunday morning – although she’d half-expected a total meltdown of mass hysteria and an ensuing panicked exodus from school, based on the news reports.  Then again, her fellow students are probably still snoring off their massive weekend benders and it’s a bit too early for the helicopter parents to start hovering.  Besides, this sleepy college campus tucked into the rolling hills of Virginia is probably one of the safest places in the world to be right now.

 _Yeah, just like a fucking gas station in Oklahoma, right?_   Whispers her traitorous brain.

Darcy blinks away the tears that threaten her already blurry vision and gingerly makes the last hairpin turn to the top floor of the parking garage.  Luckily, the furthest corner is empty, and she actually has room to back in while leaving an empty spot on the passenger side for unloading.  She turns the ignition off and the van shudders, the engine coughing and sputtering and pinging before settling into a foreboding silence.  She cracks the window a little bit and leans her head against the cool glass, gulping deep breaths of chilly morning air.

 _Finally_.

It’s so quiet up on the sixth floor of the parking garage that she lets herself relax a little bit.  Even the silence sounds different here: a slight breeze rustling the thick green leaves of the trees, the lush vegetation muffling the chirping of birds, the soft hiss and then snick-snick-snick of a lawn sprinkler off in the distance.  The pale, rosy-coral glow of sunrise paints the sky in delicate watercolors, and although she loved her time in the desert … _this_ , she thinks, _this is home_. 

She’s so relaxed, in fact, that she dozes off for just a second, right there in the driver’s seat of the van.  Or at least she _thinks_ that it’s only been a second when a clinking metallic tap sounds loudly against her ear and pulls her from a deep, dreamless coma.

“Wha-” 

She straightens up from her awkward sideways slump, wincing a little bit at the crick in her already sore neck, and realizes with embarrassment that she’s been drooling in her sleep.  She swipes at her chin with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and adjusts her glasses, running a hand through her hair before turning to face the window.  She’s got an excuse all prepared for the campus security officer when she realizes that (again) it’s no faux-cop standing on the other side of the van door … no, it’s the self-proclaimed Supreme Leader of Midgard himself, back in her life with his unnaturally bright eyes and feral grin and shiny metal-tipped spear tap-tap-tapping on the partially opened driver’s side window.

“Good morning, Darcy Lewis.  Did you sleep well?”

This time she can’t even make a noise, doesn’t even move as they lock eyes and stare at each other.  She’s so, so tired – beyond exhausted, really, and her brain just empties out under Loki’s hypnotic gaze, neurons firing ineffectually into the void.  Seconds stretch out into minutes, time expanding into another dimension as his smirk widens at the sight of her, slack-mouthed and gaping.  He slowly reaches for the door, tugging on the handle once, twice, and the realization that she hadn’t yet unlocked it – that she has a single precious second on her side - spurs Darcy to action.  She unbuckles the seat belt and flings herself between the front seats into the back of the van, lurching for the rear passenger side door as Loki curses in a language that she doesn’t recognize.  An instant later, all of the door locks release with a simultaneous _bang_ and he yanks the driver’s side door open. 

He half-leans into the van and reaches between the seats with a long arm, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her towards him.  She shrieks and kicks at his hand, clawing and fighting against his superhuman strength, twisting her torso around so that she can drag herself towards the back doors with both arms braced against the side seats.  Her wild flailing causes him to momentarily lose his balance and his grip loosens, allowing her to surge forward and wrench the handles open.  Unfortunately, she’d backed the van too close to the wall, and the doors swing out about a third of the way and then stop with a sickening scrape against the cement.

He laughs now, low and throaty, and seems to relish her panic as she realizes that she’s trapped.  She turns back to face him.  _Man up_ , she whispers to herself.  _Might as well see it coming_.

“My, my, my.  How pathetic,” he drawls, ending with a _tsk_.  “It appears as though your luck has finally run out.”

He leans forward again, moving with preternatural grace, and slides neatly between the front seats to crouch before her, spear in hand.

“Now then,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle, sensual and hypnotic. “Shall we resume this ridiculous dance?”

It’s his sudden attitude shift that completely flips the freakout switch in her brain.  Where just a second ago she was ready to face the inevitable, to stand bravely and take whatever he was going to dish out, to know that she’d fought right up until the very end – that was pretty cool, even if it did still suck.  But this?  Hearing his voice go all smooth and sexy, watching the soft, crazy look intensify in his eyes as he prepares to slice her open with his big pointy spear, and anticipating his intimate whispers tickling her ear as she bleeds out – here _in_ _the back of a van_ , of all places?

Absolutely.  Fucking.  NOT.

So Darcy does the only thing that she can think of, as she can’t run, can’t hide, can’t tase him, can’t throw candy bars at him and can’t use a can of Red Bull as a defensive weapon.

She offers up a prayer to any god that will listen (but not the one right in front of her, because no matter what Thor might have claimed, these bastards are just fucking _aliens_ ) –

And jumps.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Of course it’s not so easy, or so graceful, or even as final as she expected.  In her mind, she turned and dove out of the two-foot gap between the van doors, sailing over the concrete wall in a perfect arch and floating down, down, down, surrounded by beautiful aquamarine sky and feathery velvet-green leaves and away from this insanity.

Well, she didn’t actually get that far in her head.  Or in real life, as a matter of fact.

In reality, she lurches backwards through the van doors with an agonized “Guh” and hits the wall hard, knocking the air out of her lungs.  She has just enough energy left in her legs to push herself up, braced against the rusty metal bumper, to the edge of the railing, hoisting herself halfway over as she struggles in agony to pull a breath into her burning chest.  She leans semi-upright and swings one leg, then another over the edge, closing her eyes against sudden vertigo and willing herself to roll over so that she is facing the van, body over the wall, clinging to the ledge with her arms and shoulders, sneakered feet scrabbling for purchase against the smooth outer surface of the garage.  Dimly, she hears a startled shout from inside the van and knows that this is it, her last chance of escape, and tells herself that she has to let go.

She doesn’t want to let go.

She _really_ doesn’t want to let go. 

But she knows that it is the only way to end this on her terms.

Just as her straining muscles are about to give way, Loki’s hand clamps onto her forearm, his gloved fingers closing tight around her wrist.  She looks up and sees the expression of utter shock on his face, his eyes desperate and wild and his skin pale.  His mouth opens and closes in horror and for once, it’s his turn to be speechless.  But then the strength in her other hand gives out and she slips from the cement wall and dangles there, six stories high, held aloft by only his vice grip on her arm.  The bottom drops out from her stomach and she wants to cry, she wants to barf, she wants to scream, she wants to fall, she wants to grab ahold of him and cling to him _forever_ , and she’s never been so utterly terrified in all of her life. 

For a second, he looks as though he’s feeling exactly the same things – and maybe even more so – but then he twitches a little bit, and it’s as though something completely shuts down behind his eyes and he blinks.  He exhales deeply and sets his jaw, and when he opens his eyes again he’s got the crazy thousand-yard stare back in place.  The corners of his lips quirk down and he begins to lift her up, just raising his arm as though her entire dead weight were nothing, and she really, really cannot comprehend why he can’t just _leave her alone_.  Even if that means leaving her to die in a broken, battered heap on the ground behind the West Parking Garage.

The cold, arrogant expression has returned to his face and she knows without a doubt that this is it, that she’s managed to piss him off so thoroughly that he’s really going to kill her – and maybe even enjoy doing so – and she can’t let that happen.  He may have claimed her entire planet, but _goddammit_ he won’t claim her.  At least not the way that he wants to.

 _Let it forever be known that Darcy Lewis is a stubborn motherfucker_ , she thinks, and catches his eye. 

With irrational bravado, she cracks a smile that widens to a grin as she reaches up with her free hand and yanks open the zip on her hoodie.  She can see exactly when he figures out what she’s doing, and his eyes go wide and shocked again, his lips mouthing “No!” but by then it’s too late – she’s got the sweatshirt open and one arm loose, then it’s off her shoulders and with a little tugging twist her wrist slips completely free of the fabric and out of his grip. 

And then she’s falling, falling and not thinking and then –

She lands in his arms.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Even Darcy’s smart-aleck brain has run out of clever ideas by now.  She’s still trying to process the whole _not dead_ thing and barely notices when Loki releases her from his grasp and takes an unsteady step back.  The only thing to dimly register as she drops to the ground is the chilly, slick softness of dew-covered grass, wet and cold against her bare arms.  Instinctively, she weaves her fingers tightly into the strands and uses them to pull herself over, to press her face against the earth, taking deep, heaving breaths as her body shudders apart with exhaustion and adrenaline.

When Loki finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and unsteady. 

“I did not realize …” He trails off and braces himself against a nearby tree.  “Such madness, to let go … what fear, what desperation, to be on the other side, helpless, to watch as …” He closes his eyes, swallowing convulsively for a few moments.

Moving purely on instinct, hoping to use his current distraction as a means to escape, Darcy gathers the last remaining ounces of her strength and dizzily pushes herself up to her hands and knees.  Disoriented, she can’t focus, can’t figure out which way to crawl, and only manages to shuffle forward, her head bumping into Loki’s boots.  A frustrated, strangled whine escapes her throat as she unsteadily topples back onto the grass.  Her movement breaks his reverie and he looks down at her, his expression pensive.

“Your spirit is impressive, Darcy Lewis.  A true warrior soul, unfairly imprisoned in weak mortal flesh.”  He considers her for a few more moments.  “I must admit, I could not comprehend the full measure of your worth upon our first meeting.  Nor did I understand the Foster woman’s desire for your presence.”

The mention of Jane’s name is a lifeline for Darcy, something for her focus on, to cling to, adrift as she is in her current sea of confusion.

“Jane?  You found Jane?  She is – is she – where?”

He continues as though she had not spoken.  “However, I still cannot reconcile your value to the project at hand.  It is clear that you lack the scientific acumen to assist in her current assignment.  No, I believe that your talents lie elsewhere, and I rather suspect that you will be of further importance to me in the days ahead.  Now, come.”  He reaches for her, arm outstretched, hand beckoning.  “We must be away.  Time is of the essence, I am afraid, and we have spent far too much of it on this foolish pursuit.”

Her emotions churning, she shrinks away from his hand.  “There’s no – I’m not – you can’t – I just – ”

“Come,” he repeats, as he bends slightly, grasping her shoulder with a firm grip.  “You will not be harmed, at least by my hand, of this you have my word.”  He waves his other fingers in a complicated pattern and the spear suddenly materializes.  He does not threaten her with it, not that she has the strength to resist in any case, and tugs her closer to him.  “Be still.”

For once in her life, Darcy obeys, but only because she doesn’t think that she has any choice.  She (rather confusedly) considers the promise that he just offered her – wondering just how far this oath of protection actually extends – when suddenly the world pulls away from her, stretching out into an infinite distance of swirling white light and black emptiness before releasing back with a stinging _snap_ against every cell of her skin like a giant rubber band.  “Ow!  What the – ”

He smirks at her as she rubs her hands against her arms to relieve the tingling.  She realizes, with a start, that they’re no longer outside and surveys the room in confusion.  “Where are we and how the _fuck_ did we just get here?”

He sighs sadly and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Once again, I entreat you to mind your language, Darcy Lewis.  The use of such pejorative vernacular is most unbecoming, especially from lips such as yours.”

 _Wait, what?_   Her brain spins.  She fishes around in vain for a snarky response, then gives up with a shrug and sneaks another glance at her surroundings.  They stand in what appears to be a smallish (but opulent) sitting room, decorated in soothing tones of ivory and taupe, fitted out with elaborate, intricately styled dark wood furnishings, plush fabrics and gilded accents.  The décor is somewhere between early Colonial and old-world luxury, but with modern conveniences including a wide flat-screen television and a desk in the corner with an ergonomic work chair.  The door beyond his shoulder is ajar and opens to what appears to be an equally fabulous bedroom.   “Are we – is this – a hotel?”

“Correct,” he nods, a faint smile touching is lips.  “The accuracy of your deductive reasoning is impressive, considering the rather extreme nature of your recent … experiences.”  He moves to the window, brushing aside the sheer drape to glance at the street below.  “You will be safe here for the time being; your anonymity is assured.”  He turns back to Darcy and examines her with a quick, appraising flick of his eyes.  “Your constitution has held up admirably despite the strain, but it is patently obvious that you are in desperate need of rest.  I ask that you stay here and take advantage of this establishment’s amenities until my return.”

His words remind her of just how exhausted she really is, and it’s suddenly a major effort just to stay upright.  Still, the thought of being _trapped_ here – even if this is no prison cell but a lushly padded suite the likes of which she’s never even _seen_ before – pisses her right off.

“I can’t just stay here and _wait_ for you,” she snaps.  “I know who you are, I know what you’ve done – what you’re _still_ doing – and you can’t for a minute think that I will just _go along_ _with it_ – especially if you’ve done something to Jane – ”

Frustration flickers in his eyes and Darcy sees him struggle with the urge to flatten her.  He manages to calm himself before the crazy takes hold again, and she internally gives him a couple of points for effort.

“I have not harmed Jane Foster; on the contrary, she is currently employed in the pursuit of scientific inquiry on my behalf.  I do not damage those who aid me.”  He straightens his posture and looks down at Darcy again.  “Nor those who … interest me.”

Before she can even respond to this statement, he is back to reeling off instructions.

“I will take my leave of you, and you will use this time to sleep.  I shall arrange for food to be delivered after an appropriate interval.”  He glances down at her rumpled, sweaty, grass-stained t-shirt and jeans, his nose wrinkling slightly in disdain.  “Fresh clothing, as well.  Might I also suggest a bath?”

Riled up, she opens her mouth to protest, but he silences her with a finger.  “Do not attempt to escape, and do not endeavor to contact any person other than those I send to these rooms.  This is for your safety, and mine.”  He tilts his head as though listening for something in the distance, although Darcy can’t hear anything other than muffled traffic sounds from the street below.  “I must leave at once.”  He looks down at her again, a touch of mischief on his face, and pats her head.  “Stay,” he tells her, and disappears.

She looks around the parlor in disbelief, confused and exhausted and angry and incredulous and amused – _did he just tell me to “stay”?!  Really?_ – and wanders dazedly into the bedroom.  The bed is huge – a king – and nearly three feet high, piled with down pillows and a thick white duvet and just like _that_ every thought in her head vanishes, replaced a bone-shaking need for sleep.  She moves on autopilot, toeing off her shoes and socks and stripping down to her bra and panties. Crawling onto the bed, she whimpers in pleasure at the amazing feeling of lying on a cloud, surrounded by soft, plush fabric, and burrows into the blankets.  Before she can even formulate a plan for tomorrow, her head hits the pillow and unconsciousness overtakes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and this is where I extend my sincere apologies to everyone who lives (or has lived) in Oklahoma City. :)


	2. The Madison House

Fourteen hours later, Darcy realizes that she has a problem.

Well, okay, she has a foot-long list of problems, but she also has her freaking _PhD_ in going with the flow.  This means that she deals with things one at a time, on a first-come-first-serve basis, and ignores the rest.  All of her issues are required to take those little numbered tickets like at the deli counter and then they just have to wait their turn, no crowding or pushing or jumping the queue, until she gets around to thinking about them.

 _Honestly, there would be far less stress in the world if other people did it like this._   _Especially Jane_ , she thinks.   _It’s a freaking miracle that she ever gets any science done the way she flails around._

But thoughts of Jane – and wherever she might be at the moment – make Darcy sad and worried, and that’s yet another problem that has to take a number and go to the end of the very long line.  Because right now Darcy has something more pressing to figure out, and that’s how she is going to take a shower without using any shampoo.  Or conditioner.  Or soap.

There are, as a matter of fact, plenty of toiletries to be found in this very swanky bathroom of this very swanky suite in this (she assumes) very swanky hotel.  Swanky little toiletries, as a matter of fact, ones that come in real, miniature glass bottles with fancy parchment labels.  Toiletries that are actually imported from London.  _London!!!_   And here Darcy is, sitting in her laundry-day underwear on the elaborately tiled rim of the wide, deep soaking tub, looking miserably at the pretty little bottles all lined up in an elegant row on the gleaming marble counter.

Pretty little bottles that stare back at her.  Mocking her.  Looking so cute and smelling so exotic and so very, very far out of her league.

She sighs.

She wants to steal them, she really does.  They’d be a lovely souvenir of this very fucked-up weekend, but she has no idea if a) she’s even going to survive or b) how she would get them out of here, anyway, seeing as she doesn’t have her purse or her backpack or her hoodie.  Somehow she doesn’t think that stuffing them in her bra will work.  Also, c), she’s pretty sure that the collection in front of her has a street value greater than all of her possessions combined and d) there are probably anti-theft devices planted in the caps or something.

 _Well, that’s it, then.  Problem solved._   She grins and hops off the bathtub.  Reaching in to the glass-walled shower, she turns the water on full-blast, cranking it all the way to hot in order to build up a good cloud of steam before she jumps in.  _Nothing to do but lather up._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Twenty-five rejuvenating minutes later, she’s bundled in a thick terry robe, hair wrapped in a towel turban, freshly showered and lotioned and smelling absolutely _fantastic_.  She pads out to the sitting room on bare feet, turning on lights as she goes, and flops on the sofa in front of the TV.  She can’t immediately find the remote, however, and is in the process of groping beneath the velvet cushions when the phone starts to ring. 

_Hmm.  Should I answer it?  I don’t know if I really want to answer it._

She watches the phone nervously.  It keeps ringing, oblivious to her internal debate.

_It might be the Supremely Crazy Alien Leader, calling to see if I’ve thrown myself out of the window yet._

Ring.

_I bet I should answer it.  If it is him, and I don’t answer, he might come back to check on me._

She gives the phone the stare-down, hoping that she can intimidate it into silence.

Ring. 

 _Damn._ It must be her imagination, but the phone is starting to sound pissed off. 

_Does he even know how to use a phone?_

RING. 

_Oh, whatever.  He can probably strangle me without even being in the same room.  Or the same city.  Or the same planet._

At _that_ thought she answers the phone.  “Hello?”

Much to her relief, it isn’t Loki’s voice on the other end of the line but that of an older woman.  The voice is very kind with a lilting Indian accent, a voice that Darcy finds oddly comforting.  Especially considering the alternative.

“Miss Darcy?  Please allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Bhavya, and I am honored to be your personal concierge during your stay here at the Madison House.  I trust that you slept well?”

She pulls the phone away from her ear and gawps at it for a long moment.  _The Madison House?  Are you freaking kidding me?  How did I not notice this?_   She shakes her head incredulously.  _He is a crazy alien.  Completely crazy, with balls of steel. Hiding me here – in the freaking Madison House – not a block away from the fucking WHITE HOUSE – what is he thinking?_

“Miss Darcy?”  Bhavya’s gentle voice echoes from the phone with a note of concern.  “Are you well?  Do you require any assistance?”

She strangles the urge to laugh.  “Oh, um, yes, thanks.  Err – wait!  I mean no!  I mean – I’m fine, yes, I slept well, and no, I don’t need help.  But thank you!  That’s very nice of you.”

Bhavya continues smoothly, doesn’t even hesitate or make a comment about Darcy’s awkward response.  Then again, she supposes that not much can fluster a concierge at the most exclusive hotel in Washington, DC.  Except possibly for crazy aliens, and they won’t be showing up until later.

“I realize that it is rather late and I do apologize for disturbing you without notice.  However, Mr. Smith was most concerned about your welfare and asked me to ensure that you had an evening meal.”

Once again, Darcy nearly drops the phone.  “Mr. Smith … ?”

Now Bhavya hesitates for a moment.  “Ah, yes, the gentleman who arranged your accommodations identified himself as Mr. Smith.  I believe he mentioned that he was your employer?” 

“My employer … ?”

Bhavya clears her throat nervously.  “Miss Darcy, are you quite sure that you are not in need of assistance?”

This time Darcy actually _does_ laugh, a loud guffaw.  “Oh, man, if only you knew.  But no – I’m fine.  Really.  It’s just – well, I guess that I didn’t know that – uh – _Mr. Smith_ would use an assumed name.  Or that he’d pick such a lame one – I would have expected something a little more, um, _clever_.  From him, anyway.  That’s all.”

“Miss Darcy …” Bhavya’s voice is low, yet urgent.  “Mr. Smith is not in the building at this time.  I can arrange for a car to take you wherever you would like to go.  Quickly, before he returns.”

“Thank you, but I don’t …” Darcy trails off, confused.  Suddenly the light-bulb in her head flickers on and she figures out what this sudden turn of conversation is all about.  “Oh my god, you don’t mean … oh no, it’s not what you’re thinking.  I mean, seriously, this isn’t a scene out of _Pretty Woman_.  I’m not – we’re not – he’s not – really.  I promise.  Honest to god.  I mean, I guess you could call him my employer” _– more like kidnapper –_ “but it has nothing to do with sex.”  _Creepy interspecies sex?  Eurgh.  Even if he is kind of hot._ “And I really don’t need a ride.”  _Because he’d find me anyway._ “But I would love some dinner?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”  Bhavya does not seem entirely convinced by Darcy’s protests, but she doesn’t pursue her line of inquiry any further.  “I am happy to arrange for room service on your behalf.  I believe that you will find a brown folder inside the right-hand drawer of your writing desk.  Inside this folder is our in-room dining menu.”

Darcy opens the drawer and slides out a heavy, cognac-colored leather binder with the hotel’s logo embossed in swirly gold lettering on the front.  A logo that is all fuzzy around the edges, because she’s just now realized that her glasses are probably in a thousand tiny pieces somewhere on the lawn behind the West Parking Garage.  _Fuck._ She flips to the first section and squints at the rows of ornate font that look like so many elaborate squiggles on the heavy textured pages.

“Well, this is going to take me a few minutes.  I’ve lost my glasses and this fancy type is really hard to read.”  She chews on her lip for a minute, thinking.  “Um, Bhavya, do you have any recommendations?  That might be a lot faster, actually.” 

“Certainly, Miss Darcy.  Our restaurant’s specialty, for which we are quite famous, is a Maryland style crab cake, served with Lyonnaise potatoes and steamed asparagus in lemon butter.”

Just thinking about food causes Darcy’s stomach to rumble so violently that she’s sure Bhavya can hear it right through the phone.  _Embarrassing, much?_

“Ohh, that sounds _fantastic_.  Yes, I’ll definitely have that.”  She thinks for a minute.  _Hmm, if the room is in ‘Mr. Smith’s’ name, then the bill should be too._  Smirk.  “Does that come with salad or anything?”

“I’m afraid not; our salads are offered a la carte and are therefore rather large.  Many of my guests find the portions to be simply too much when paired with an entrée.  However, may I suggest our featured first course – a roasted butternut squash soup?”

“Oh heck yeah.”  Darcy is practically drooling now.  “And dessert, I need dessert.  What’s your favorite?”

“Hmm, I suppose that depends on my mood – and your preferences, of course.”  Bhavya’s voice is warm and smiling again.  “If you are partial to chocolate, our pastry chef does a lovely soufflé with praline.  However, as for myself, I prefer the bread and butter pudding.  It is made with our own challah bread and dried cherries, served with a delicate ginger cream on the side.  I simply cannot resist the temptation.”

Darcy doesn’t even hesitate.  “Yes.”

The phone is silent for a moment.

“Please forgive me, there must be some misunderstanding on my part.”  Bhavya is courteous but obviously nonplussed by Darcy’s response.  “You’d like the bread pudding?”

“Actually, um, both?”  Darcy giggles.  “That was my answer – yes!”

“Ah, I see.”  She is far too professional to react with anything but the politest amusement.  “Very well, Miss Darcy.  I will place the order straight away; please expect delivery in approximately twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Bhavya, you’re the best!”

“Please believe me when I say that it is my pleasure.  Is there anything else that I may offer you this evening?”

Darcy thinks about her grungy clothes.  “Well, I don’t suppose that there’s a laundromat in the hotel, is there?  Not that I have any quarters for the machines.  I was kind of … in a hurry to get here, I guess you could say.”

“No Laundromat, Miss Darcy, as we offer a full laundry service.  You will find a bag in your closet; please place your soiled articles inside this bag and hang it on your door handle.  I will have them picked up immediately, and we’ll have them clean and ready for you first thing in the morning.”

“Wow!”  Darcy is impressed – this place is everything that it’s cracked up to be, and then some.  “That’s awesome, thanks!”

“You are quite welcome, Miss Darcy.  Please enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

A nice man named David knocks on her door exactly twenty minutes later, pushing an elaborate rolling table holding a vase of irises, elegant cutlery, and an impressive array of dishes covered with shiny silver domes.  He maneuvers it over to the sofa and fusses over her for a few long minutes, adjusting the table so that it is the exact height for her to comfortably eat while watching TV and spreading a thick linen napkin on her lap.  He then flourishes open each shiny dome with practiced flair, elegantly showcasing each course like so many precious jewels being offered to a princess.  Darcy is tickled pink by the attention, but also pretty starving – and even though David is too well-trained to say anything, she doesn’t want to give in to the temptation to stick her face into the food while he’s still in the room.

So she thanks him profusely, insists that she’s fine and pleased with her meal and totally good to go, then allows ‘Mr. Smith’ to give him an _obscenely_ large tip (heh) before practically shoving him out of the suite.  Once the heavy wooden door is closed and locked, her bag of stinky clothes having already been spirited away by the laundry fairies, she turns and does a 3 ½ backwards somersault in the tuck position into her bowl of soup.  Figuratively, anyway.

The soup is divine.  The crab cake even more so.  Over the past few months, Darcy’s been eating a steady diet of diner food and junk, cereal and pop-tarts, and it’s a damn shame that she is so incredibly hungry that she can’t properly appreciate this meal – one that cost more, after tip, than her books last semester – instead of just _shoveling_ it into her gaping maw like a shark in a feeding frenzy.

The television is tuned to CNN in the background while she gorges herself, and even though she can’t read the news crawls along the bottom of the screen without her glasses she can tell that the media is currently going haywire over the whole alien invasion problem.  It’s pretty hard to miss, what with Wolf Blitzer and Anderson Cooper currently _freaking the fuck out_ and shouting at each other, over each other, trying to outdo one another with the latest insights into the crisis, while various reporters pop in and out of split-screen windows to breathlessly report on even more damage and death.  She thinks that it’s probably what 9/11 was like, except that this time she’s not in middle school and actually _wants_ to follow along instead of just going into her bedroom and tuning out in a state of adolescent detachment.  It also helps that she knows some of the people involved, this time. 

Well, maybe that doesn’t actually help – since the one person that she actually _knows_ to be involved in the situation is in reality _the_ crazy alien, the big bad guy himself, and he’s kind of the one who started it.

He’s also the one who chooses this very moment to stop by for a visit.  And of course Loki doesn’t use the door like a normal person, he just _appears_ on the chair next to her sofa like … well, a crazy alien.  A _magical_ crazy alien.  One who needs to stop.  Doing. _That._

Except that she can’t really say anything, can’t tell him to _knock it off_ , as it’s already been established that he is _way more crazy_ than she is and doesn’t appreciate her backtalk, especially when there are f-bombs involved.  So she suppresses a reflexive curse and tries not to swallow her mouthful of asparagus the wrong way and  almost manages not to drop the heavy silverware onto the delicate china plate with a huge echoing crash.  Except that she totally does.

He leans back in his chair, mouth quirking slightly at the corners and one eyebrow raised.  A sudden reckless urge overtakes her and before she can control it, she raises one of her eyebrows back.  His eyes widen in surprise and he raises the other eyebrow incredulously.

They sit there for a few long moments, staring at each other in the eyebrow equivalent of a Mexican standoff, until his eyes flicker down to the table.  Darcy is so busy internally congratulating herself on her mad stare-down skills that she doesn’t notice him helping himself to her chocolate soufflé.

“Hey!” She squeaks indignantly as he elegantly raises a dark, sinful spoonful of the soufflé to his lips.  “That’s my – ”  she trails off as he licks the spoon experimentally.  _Oh no, he did not just lick that spoon in front of me.  That’s kind of … whoa.  _Eager to derail _that_ train of thought, she huffs and turns her attention back to her asparagus.  Viciously cutting a spear into tiny quarter-inch pieces, she gathers up her nerve to speak.

“So!  Um … how was your day?”  She cringes inwardly.  _Uncool!_

He just gives her a _look_ and turns back to the soufflé.  She can almost _read_ the imaginary thought-bubble that appears above his head.  _( … Foolish girl.)_ Apparently the dessert meets with his approval, because he starts tucking in with graceful abandon.

She tries again.  “Um, where’s your spear?”

He narrows his eyes at her, angling the bowl to scrape the spoon along the side.  “It is a scepter.”

“A scepter?  Don’t those usually come with little crowns on top?  That thing looked like a spear to me.”

He lets out a weary sigh.  “Scepters are normally carried by royalty, are they not?”  He swallows another bite of the chocolate.  “It is in my possession, therefore it is a scepter.”

Darcy huffs again.  “Spear, scepter, giant scary can opener.  Whatever.  Did you lose it?  Or did you just decide that you weren’t going to stab me with it tonight?”

Loki glares at her, attention half-diverted from the soufflé.  A tiny muscle just beneath his right eye begins to twitch and Darcy realizes that once again, her mouth is just seconds away from getting her into serious trouble.

“Sorry!  Sorry.”  She laughs nervously.  “That wasn’t very nice of me, was it?  I mean, I shouldn’t just assume that you’re automatically going to kill me every time we’re in the same room together.”

“Indeed.”  He points at her with the spoon.  “It was never my intention to cause your death, even inadvertently.  You were the one to make that ill-conceived leap of judgment.”

“ _Leap_ , yeah.”  She looks down at her asparagus, now sliced into so many tiny little circles.  “I.  Um.  Well.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.”  Taking a deep breath, she looks up at him again, watching him chase the last few bites of chocolate from the edges of the dish.  _He does seem tired tonight,_ she thinks. _Not so much with the crazy._ She also notices that he’s wearing a suit instead of the heavy metal getup; a nice, normal human business suit.  With a tie.  It’s kind of a good look on him.  ( _WTF?!?!?!_ half of her brain yelps at the other half.)

She shakes her head, hoping to get both sides of her brain working on the same wavelength ( _you know, the one where crazy aliens aren’t attractive_ ), and goes on the offensive.  “And what was that all about, anyway?  How did you know who I was?  Where I was?  Why were you following me?  And why were you trying to use your spe- err, _scepter_ on me?  Like, what does it do?”

“All in good time, Darcy Lewis.”  He sighs and slides the now-empty ramekin onto the table and leans wearily back into his chair.  “Not every question requires an answer, at least for the moment.”

“But, that!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.  “You know my name!  How do you know my _name_?  And you mentioned Jane, how do you know her?  Were you – did you – there were, before, in New Mexico – ”

Loki cuts her off with a raised hand.  “I will say this:  our paths have crossed in the past, although you would not have known so at the time.”  His eyes search hers.  “I sought you out, days ago, as I believed your service was necessary in order to further my goals.  While that situation has since changed, I do not wish for you to be captured by those who would use our passing acquaintance against you.  For now, you need only accept my offer of protection.”

“Protection?  But I don’t even know who you are!”  Darcy sits up straight on the couch.  “Well – I mean – I think that I’ve figured it out by now, because I’m not a _total_ idiot, but we haven’t been formally introduced.  And this – ” she waves her hand at the television, CNN blaring in the background – “This is all you!  How can this be happening at the same time you want to _protect_ me?”

He looks at the television for a long moment and turns back to her.  “It is a fair question; however, a tale for another night.  For now, let me say this:  while I did indeed set these events into motion, the current state of affairs does not match my intent.”

She stares at him for a long moment, watching as he looks down at his hands.  _Wait, did he just admit that he screwed up?_

“Well.”  _That’s a pretty monumental fuckup, if it’s true._   She pushes her plate aside.  “So what’s your plan?”

“My plan.”  He looks up from where he is flexing his fingers.  “Current or previous?”

“Either?  Both?  I don’t know.”  Darcy reaches for the bread pudding and the accompanying silver pitcher.  “Are you just going to let your minions wreck all of New York City?  And then what, do they get to spread the love to the suburbs?  Or even further?”  Pouring the sauce over the still-warm dessert, she reaches for a spoon but realizes that it’s in the cast-aside soufflé dish.  The normal, rational half of her brain shudders.  _Alien cooties, no thanks._   She licks her soup spoon clean instead and uses it to scoop out a big chunk of her dessert.

 _Holy shit, this is awesome_ , she thinks.  She may have also let out an inadvertent moan, as she realizes with some embarrassment that Loki’s gaze is sharp upon her.  When he speaks, however, his voice is cold and hard and she realizes that her appreciation of bread pudding is the furthest thing from his mind.

“My _minions_ , as you call them, are simply taking their due, as will I.  Despite the current inconveniences of battle, in the end your people will know their place and submit to my word.”

Darcy’s mouth opens and closes.  It’s not that she doesn’t know what to say, it’s that she doesn’t even know where to _start_.  “Your due?  Really?  For _what_?  What did we ever do to you?  Or to those _things_ that you turned loose on New York?”  She leans forward, jabbing her spoon in his general direction.  “And what, did you expect that you’d simply show up and that we’d just bow down before you?”

He doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw, and she knows that’s _exactly_ what he thought.  She snorts inelegantly.  “Really.  All seven billion of us, just giving up and groveling on your say-so.  Well, that might have worked a thousand years ago, but we’ve moved on from that kind of tyranny.”  She looks at the television, at CNN, and sighs.  “Alright, most of us.  There’s still North Korea.  And other pockets of crazy.  But those are exceptions, really, not the rule.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, and his silence causes Darcy to look back at him.  He stares at her, confusion and shock dawning in his eyes.  “Seven _billion_ … ?”

“Well, yeah.”  She shrugs.  “China, India, they’re pretty busy what with maintaining the population explosion.”  Thinking for a minute, the magnitude of his question begins to dawn on her.  “Wait, you didn’t realize how many …?”  Dropping her spoon into her dessert, she does a double face-palm.  “Ohmygod, did you not even do your _homework_ before you popped in for a spot of interplanetary subjugation?  Because that’s just …” She trails off, incredulously peering up at him from between her fingers.  His expression is murderous, the muscle under his eye twitching again and she nervously leans away from him.

“Foolish girl,” he hisses, his voice raspy and eyes hardened.  “How _dare_ you question my motives, my preparation?  I _will_ conquer this world and all of you who inhabit it, no matter the cost.”  The anger pours from him in waves, the air practically vibrating with it.

Darcy gulps and raises her hands in surrender.  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.  _Very_ sorry.  I wasn’t questioning your motives, even though I don’t really understand why this – why _we_ – are so important to you.  It’s just that, well, we’re not exactly going to go down without a fight, and this kind of carnage – ” she gestures to the television – “Well, there’s just no point to it.”

“Ah, but you see, that assumption is incorrect.”  Loki’s anger dissipates so quickly that it practically gives her whiplash.  “There _is_ purpose in violence, especially when used as a means to emphasize dominance.  I have allowed your world’s so-called heroes to rise up, to fight my army to the best of their abilities.  While they are indeed not without skill, they proved to be no match for the Chitauri, at least in the immediate.”  He breaks off, smiling, lost in reverie for a moment before returning to his lecture.  “Yes, they struggled valiantly, your mismatched little band of defenders.  However, the purpose of this continued aggression is to reinforce our absolute superiority, to force your race to accept their inherent disadvantage and surrender to our might.”

She shakes her head.  “Nuh-uh, it really doesn’t work that way.  Or it shouldn’t, anyway, if your goal is to actually take over the world instead of destroying it – you’re supposed to conquer without violence.”

Loki chuckles.  “An admirable sentiment, albeit a naïve and misguided one.”

“What!?” Darcy huffs.  “I’ll have you know, it comes straight out of _The Art of War_.  Well, the idea does, anyway, even if it’s not word for word.  Although I’ll bet that you haven’t read it, especially if you think that violence is good for its own sake.”

He scoffs.  “Why would I have need of your insipid human texts?  I am a Prince of Asgard; I have been involved in glorious warfare for as long as your race has existed.  Longer, perhaps.”

“Asgard?”  Darcy sits up straight.  “I _knew_ it!  It _is_ you!  You’re the one who unleashed the smackdown on Thor!  You sent that big flaming suit of armor to kill us!”

“Ah, yes, Thor.”  Loki’s lip curls in distaste at the very mention of his name.  “You may thank him for your current predicament; had he but remained in his banishment as I had intended, this realm – and its inhabitants – would have remained beneath my attention.  Instead, he survived, as is his foolish manner, and these are the results he has wrought.”

“ _He_ wrought?”  Darcy shakes her head.  “No, no, no.  Thor’s a good guy, even if he’s not the brightest crayon in the box.  No, this is all _you_ , Sir Prince of Asgard.  And it’s really not fair that you have a hate-on for the guy and _we_ get flattened as a result.”  She thinks for a moment.  “Wait – I thought – isn’t _Thor_ the Prince of Asgard?  Unless … _oh_.”  She looks at Loki, comprehension dawning in her eyes.  “Are you his –”

“Do not say it!”  Loki hisses.  “I am _not_ that fool’s brother!”

“Oh, _fucking_ hell!”  Darcy exclaims, flopping back on the couch.  “No,” she holds her hand up before he can object to her language.  “I’ve totally earned a pass on that one.  One freebie swear per sibling-rivalry-induced planetary destruction, thank you very much.”

He grits his teeth.  “Your gift for hyperbole is disturbing.  I hardly think that the current damage to New York City can be considered equivalent to ‘planetary destruction’.”

“True,” she admits.  “But there _was_ the giant Gundam in Puente Antiguo, meaning you’re two-for-two so far.  I don’t think that we can wait for you to get around to the rest of the globe.”

“Gundam?”  Loki shakes his head.  “No matter.  The current situation shall remain; the Chitauri will continue their onslaught until such time that your government sees fit to surrender.  Only then will my plans be complete; only then will your destiny be fulfilled.”

“So many things wrong with that statement,” Darcy sighs.  “I don’t know who the Chitauri are, but I’ll assume that they’re the big nasties currently killing people.  Which sucks, by the way – it’s one thing to wage warfare, it’s another to put innocent people in the middle of your temper tantrum.  And then there’s the whole ‘destiny fulfilled’ thing – I’m sorry, but bowing and scraping aren’t in my plans for the future.”

He grins malevolently.  “Ah, then you will have to reframe those plans, Darcy Lewis.”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and continues.  “And besides, the one thing you don’t seem to understand, is that it’s _governments_ , as in plural.  My government may surrender – which isn’t likely, by the way – but there are almost two hundred others, in addition to non-geographic powers such as religious groups and terrorist organizations.  You’ll never get agreement from all of those, or even a vast majority.  No, if you really want to rule the world, you’re going to have to approach it from a different angle.”

“And what would you know of such things?”  He sneers.  “You’re just a mere girl.  I hardly believe that your experience extends to – how did you put it – interplanetary subjugation.”

“Maybe not,” she admits.  “I may still be in college, but this is sort of my thing, I’ll have you know.  How governments work.  How _people_ work.  I can help.”

“And why, pray tell, would you assist me?”  He seems genuinely nonplussed.

“Because!  You’re _killing_ people, that’s got to stop!”

“You would enslave your own race to prevent a few deaths?  That hardly seems the most prudent course of action.”

“Argh!  So frustrating.”  Darcy flings an arm over her eyes.  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.  Look,” she sits up again and faces him.  “This thing that you’re doing, I really don’t get it, but I know that it’s not going to end well, the way that things are happening.  I just want to do _something_ , I don’t know what, but there has to be some way that I can fix it, make it better.  To help you get what you _really_ want, without destroying the world or the people in it.  There’s got to be a win-win situation somewhere, it’s just a matter of looking for it.”

Loki says nothing, he simply stares at her, unblinking.  Darcy can’t tell what is going on in his head, can’t read him at all, so she continues.

“So this is the point in the conversation where you tell me about your plan, where we figure out what has worked and what hasn’t, and come up with a strategy moving forward.  You know, a Plan B.”

“Just like that,” he murmurs.  “Just like that, you decide that we are allies.  Just like that, you offer me your assistance.  For no personal gain, no promise of power or untold riches.  And just like that, I am tempted to do as you ask, to lay bare my plans, to reveal my strategy.”  He taps his fingers on his chin, thoughtfully.  “You _are_ dangerous, Darcy Lewis.  Much more than you realize.”

“Well.”  She laughs then, a nervous chuckle.  “I guess that I’m not completely innocent, because in my book ‘not wanting to die’ is sort of equivalent to personal gain.  And then, you know, this …” she trails off, gesturing to the room around her.  “This certainly isn’t the kind of place that I normally hang out.  It may not be untold riches, but it’s better – way better – than my dumpy apartment.”  She laughs bitterly.  _Looks like I’m not so noble after all.  But still …_

“I guess you’re partly right, though, because I don’t want to wind up as Queen of America or anything.  I just …” she looks up at him.  “Can we?  Be allies, or at least not enemies?”

They stare at each other for a long moment, albeit without any eyebrows raised.  Loki seems lost in contemplation, and for Darcy’s part, she is hoping that he can be convinced.  _I can do this_ , she thinks.  _I can save the world.  Or at least part of it._

His voice, when he speaks, is measured.  “While I have serious reservations about the folly of this decision, I must admit that my curiosity is piqued by your offer.”  He eyes her appraisingly and it’s all Darcy can do not to squirm.  “How do you propose for this arrangement to proceed?”

Now she does squirm, because she’s actually not thought that far.  “Hmm.  Well.  As I said, I want to help, but I don’t even know what your plans are – apart from releasing the hounds and letting them trash entire cities.  But you’re only setting yourself up for long-term bloodshed, which isn’t cool, unless you don’t care what happens to these … what did you call them, Chitauri?”

He shakes his head.  “Not particularly; they are mere tools, a means to an end.”

“Right.”  She shudders.  “I guess that I should have expected that much.”

He bites back a bitter laugh.  “Do not worry yourself on the account of those savages.”

 _Ugh, again with the crazy_ , she thinks.  _Time to try a different tack_.

“Okay, so we’ve already established that you want to conquer my planet.  Why?”

Loki leans back, his gaze towards the window, where the golden dome of St. John’s is illuminated against the darkness.  “That, again, is a long story, and one best left for another night.  Suffice it to say that I was born to royalty, trained from birth to rule, until chance discovery revealed my very existence to be a mere decoy.”  He does not hide the bitterness in his voice, his words burning with anger.  “Not one world was lost to me, but two.  I refuse to accept this defeat, to subside into anonymity, to allow fate to treat me as a footnote of history.”

“Oh,” Darcy says, understanding dawning in her eyes.  “I get it now.”  _Second-son syndrome, just like King John of England_.  “You know, it doesn’t have to be this way.  You conquer the Earth, and then what?  The locals are all enslaved and will be plotting revolution at every turn.  Your alien friends won’t just let you use them without some sort of payment.  And your family, Thor and the others?  I don’t think that they’ll be too impressed by the fact that you just came down here and grabbed our planet as a consolation prize.  No, first you’ve got to figure out _why_ you really want to rule the world, and then I’ll try to figure out how to make it so that the world wants to be ruled.”

“A world that wants to be ruled,” he repeats, an expression of faint amusement on his face.  “I seem to recall making a similar statement myself, just scant days ago.  I was contradicted at the time, and yet you feel that this is possible, the natural order of things, and that _you_ can find the path to accomplishing it?”

“It’s not the natural order of things,” Darcy sighs, frustrated.  “You keep twisting my words.  All I’m saying is that people are always looking for a better alternative, and if you offer them one then they might just take it.”  She spreads her hands pleadingly.  “I can try to help you _be_ that better alternative … but you have to stop thinking of us as animals or insects or dog-poop on your shoe, don’t you see?”

“No, Darcy Lewis, I do not … but I shall enjoy your attempts to convince me.”  The humor is plain on his face, his eyes twinkling with mirth at her expense.

“I’m being serious!”  She crosses her arms and emphatically _does not pout_ , although she desperately wants to.  “I want to do this, to help you, but it won’t work if you’re either totally pissed off and wanting to kill me or else laughing at me all of the time.”  She shakes her head.  “And you really need to stop that, using my full name like my mom does when I’m in trouble.  It’s just Darcy.”

“Am I to understand that your maternal parent often disapproves of your antics?”

This time she _does_ pout.  “Whatever.”

He laughs, this time just a good, honest, non-crazy laugh, with his eyes crinkling appealingly at the corners.  “Well then, it appears that we do have one thing in common.”

“It’s a start,” she grins in return.  “Baby steps, yeah?”

“Indeed.”  Loki looks around the room and does the same sideways-head tilt that he did the previous night.  “And now, _Darcy_ ,”  – and her brain short-circuits, just a little, at the sound of her name emphasized in his lovely, lovely accent –  “I must, again, be away.  I shall return at a later time.”

“Wait!” she yelps, lunging for his sleeve.  “You can’t just leave me here!  I mean, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

He looks down at her hand on his arm, his eyebrows drawn together in a small frown of displeasure.  Guiltily, she lets go and sits back on the sofa.  “Do?”  He looks at her quizzically.  “Why, nothing, if you please.  I require no action from you at this time other than your cooperation and continued safety.  Your needs will be met for as long as you stay in this location, but you must not attempt to leave or contact those who would come for you.”

“So what, I’m supposed to just sit here?”  She raises her hands and lets them drop in a gesture of frustration.  “What about the idea that we just talked about?  You know, me helping you, working on Plan B, that kind of thing?”

Loki appears confused.  “Are you not in possession of your own mind?  What else could you require for such an endeavor?”

“Well, yes!  I have my brain, but not much else, in case you haven’t noticed.”  Darcy gestures down at the hotel robe.  “I only have one change of clothes, which happen to be in the hotel laundry right now.  I don’t have any research materials, not that I could read them without my glasses, and I can’t even get to the internet.  I’m kind of stuck here, and while it’s lovely and all, much nicer than what I’m used to, I need something to keep me from bouncing off the walls.”  She drums her fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking.  “Plus, you just pop in and out at your convenience.  I get that you need your space, but what if I’m working on something and need to ask you a question?”

He looks down at her for a long moment, then nods.  “Your points are valid.” 

She lets out a long exhale.  “Well, thanks!”

Without warning, he reaches over and grasps her chin.  His touch is neither gentle nor forceful, but Darcy flinches with surprise anyway.  “Hey!  No grabbing without asking first!”

This time it’s Loki who shakes his head in exasperation.  “Foolish girl, I am simply examining your eyes.  Your human physiology puzzles me; I do not understand its frailties.”

“Yeah, well, me either,” she admits as she allows him to tilt her head this way and that.  “One of these days I’ll be able to afford Lasik … but with my luck they’ll screw it up and I’ll be seeing halos for the rest of my life.”

He abruptly releases her chin and stands.  “Very well.  The items that you have requested shall be delivered tomorrow; in the meantime, I suggest additional sleep or more of this …” he gestures at the television “… racket.  Now, if you will excuse me, it is past time for my departure.”

“Wait!” She yells again, and sees his shoulders tense.  “You haven’t told me how to reach you – and even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to call you.”

At this, the expression of mirth returns to his eyes.  “For now we shall keep to the status quo.  I will visit as time permits; in the meantime you may leave messages with the concierge, who shall relay them to me as necessary.  And as for what you may call me – I believe that ‘Your Excellency’ has a certain ring to it, does it not?”

With that, he disappears.

“GAAAHHHH!” Darcy shouts, her frustration ringing from the walls.  “Your Excellency, my ass!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, talky chapters are talky. Sorry about that ...
> 
> The Madison House is (not at all) loosely based on The Hay-Adams, an incredibly beautiful bucket-list hotel which is way out of my league (like Darcy). However, I suppose that the St. John's view suites are akin to servant's quarters for our favorite Prince of Asgard ...
> 
> Next chapter will take a little bit longer as I will be away next weekend.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!!!


	3. The Treadmill

Tuesday morning finds Darcy pacing her suite, ready to explode from a surplus of nervous energy. 

It’s just past 9:00 and she has already:  taken a shower, made the bed, listened to CNN, admired the (fuzzy) view from every window, ordered room service, made coffee, attempted to scribble down vague beginnings of THE PLAN, rumpled the bed, looked out of the windows again, made the bed for a second time, tried without success to read her own scribbles, poured the coffee down the sink (because really, she doesn’t need any caffeine) and has since plopped back down on the sofa to listen to more television.  She has no idea what to do with herself; she can’t see, she can’t think, she can’t call anyone, she can’t go anywhere.  She’s literally bouncing off the walls and it’s only her second day of captivity.

_Maybe this is how Loki started down the path to insanity. I’ll bet that sitting in a palace with nothing to do all day but watch Thor whack things with his hammer can do that to a guy._

Snickering to herself at _that_ thought, she wanders over to the door and opens it a crack to see if room service is on its way.  _Nope._  

Not that she’s especially hungry, she just wants to see another living soul.  _Scratch that – another human_.  Poking her head out of the door, she peers this way and that down the long, silent hallway.  _Still nothing.  Damn._

With a sigh, she wanders back to the coffee table and grabs the remote.

_I wonder what Fox News has to say about His Excellency.  That ought to be good for a few laughs._

Just as she’s settled in and enjoying what today’s Blonde ReporterTM has to say about the failure of the government to control the situation – along with breathless speculation as to how the alien invasion is actually a giant plot on the president’s part to increase welfare spending and prove global warming –  there is a discreet knock on her door.

Darcy races over and joyfully flings it open to find another smiling waiter bearing room service.  He is accompanied by an older, dark-skinned woman with steel-grey hair, kind eyes and a benevolent smile, dressed in an impeccably tailored pantsuit.  In her hands are a stack of folded newspapers, a bundle that Darcy guesses contains her clothes, and a small oblong box.

“Hi!  It’s so good to see you,” Darcy gushes enthusiastically.  “Come on in!”  She smiles brightly, gesturing towards the sitting area and urging them to follow.  The room-service waiter, an exceedingly tall and thin older man with stooped shoulders, carefully rolls the tray over to the sofa.  He cordially and with restraint repeats David-from-last-night’s performance, pampering her with solicitous attention and revealing this morning’s bounty:  lemon-ricotta pancakes, thick-cut bacon, a bowl of strawberries the size of golf balls, coffee in a French press.  Blushing from the attention – especially in the presence of a witness – Darcy ducks her head and bobs in an awkward curtsy as he bows his way out of the room.

“I trust that you slept well, Miss Darcy?”  The woman, whom Darcy assumes to be Bhavya, has deposited her parcels on the coffee table.  She is now bustling about the room, tidying with practiced ease, adjusting curtains and plumping pillows as she goes.  “Are you enjoying your stay with us?”

“Oh yes, I am.” Darcy sighs.  “This place is just wonderful.  I never actually expected to be staying here, at least not until I could afford it on my own.”  She blushes.  _Oh, good job, girlfriend.  Way to put your foot in your mouth._   “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that –”

“I understand,” Bhavya interjects smoothly.  “You need not explain.”

“Actually, I _do_ need to explain!  It’s really not what you think.”  Darcy nervously twists the sash of her bathrobe with both hands.  “I wasn’t kidding when I said that it wasn’t a _Pretty Woman_ thing.  It’s more like an overprotective thing.”   Mindful of Loki’s request for secrecy, she plays fast and loose in her response to the concierge.  “You see, my … um … well, err … ‘Mr. Smith’ … doesn’t want the aliens to find me.”

Bhavya stares at Darcy for a moment, her response somewhere between reserved and incredulous.  “You came here from New York?”

“Not exactly?”  Darcy hedges.  “But I do think that my real boss is there right now – she’s the one that actually works for Mr. Smith, you see.  That’s probably why he decided to hide me here, to make sure that I was safe.  Not that I’m complaining – this place is incredibly perfect and everyone has been so nice.  It’s like a dream … I keep pinching myself to wake up, and yet I’m still here.”

“Very well, Miss Darcy.”  Bhavya still looks puzzled but she seems to accept Darcy’s explanation at face value.  She gestures to the bundle atop the coffee table.  “In the meantime, I’ve brought your clean clothing and a few other articles.  I have also been entrusted with the task of shopping on your behalf; Mr. Smith has requested that I expand your wardrobe in order to ensure that your stay here is comfortable.”

“Wow!  That’s just … um.”  _Weird._   “I kind of don’t know what to say to that.”

Bhavya graces her with a kind smile.  “Given the circumstances, may I recommend that you accept my assistance and his generosity?  Simply write down your sizes and preferences for me; I will take care of the rest.”

Darcy blinks.  “Oh, sure, of course.”  She reaches over to the desk for the pen and notepad, squinting at her earlier scribbles and flipping to a fresh page.  “Sorry, this might take a while.”

“Oh dear,” Bhavya interrupts.  “I have completely forgotten about your eyesight.  These arrived on the premises first thing in the morning – please forgive me.”  She hands the small box to Darcy, who opens it to find a new pair of glasses.  They’re definitely not identical to her old pair – these frames are a pretty dark green and are oval in shape, not square.  However, the prescription is exactly the one she needs – maybe even better than one she lost – and the glasses themselves are a perfect fit.  She leans over to check her reflection in the mirror behind the desk and is surprised to find that the color and shape of the frames are actually quite flattering.

 _Huh.  I guess that he could have a fallback career as an optometrist – or maybe even a fashion stylist – in case this whole interplanetary dictatorship thing doesn’t work out.  Go figure …_  

“Wow, I can see again!  Thanks so much.”  She smiles at Bhavya.  “You have no idea how much better I feel!  Being blind kind of sucks.”

“You are very welcome, Miss Darcy, although I was simply the messenger.”

“Well, considering that I couldn’t have come down to the front desk to pick them up without falling head over heels down the stairs, that’s pretty important.”  Darcy smiles as an idea forms in her head.  “Say, Bhavya, have you been following the news on this whole alien invasion thing?”

Bhavya frowns.  “I have, yes.  I find it rather terrifying to consider that we are not alone in the universe, and that there are those out there who would do us harm.  I cannot begin to comprehend it.”

“I know, right?  I can’t wrap my head around it either.  I keep wondering what we could possibly have done to anyone out there to make them attack us like this.” Darcy leans against the desk.  “I mean, it isn’t an episode of _Star Trek_ , it’s not as though our space shuttles ever popped over to someone else’s planet and disobeyed the Prime Directive and now it’s retaliation time.  Really, here we are just sitting here minding our own business, and then _bam_ – aliens all up in our face.  It’s _so_ not cool.”

“I agree, Miss Darcy.”  Bhavya nods solemnly.  “I fear that our planet is under the gravest of threats.”

“Well, it depends, I guess.”  Darcy shrugs nonchalantly.  “I’m sure that the army has plans to fight back, and you never know – we could win.”

Bhavya frowns.  “But if we do not win …” her voice trails off.  “I must admit to being afraid.”

“Yeah, you’re right, of course.  Those freaky-looking aliens are pretty scary.  From what I’ve seen on TV it doesn’t seem like they have any problem with killing people just for fun.  Still, the other guy – the one in the helmet and cape who does all the talking – I don’t know, maybe they can get him to be reasonable?”

Bhavya shakes her head, a dark expression on her face.  “He does not appear to be the type who can be reasoned with.”

“Well, of _course_ he’s not going to come off as a nice guy while he’s threatening everyone,” Darcy points out.  “I mean, if I were going to take over a planet, I’d come in guns blazing too, just to show off a little bit.”  _Well, not exactly._   “I’m sure that he’s just projecting an image, you know?  And then maybe he’s not so violent when the cameras aren’t rolling.”

Bhavya looks dubious.  “I believe him at his word – that he intends to rule our planet, by force if necessary.  I cannot expect that he will be amenable to our point of view; most people who grasp for power are not so accommodating.”

“You have a point,” Darcy admits.  “So how about the worst-case scenario?  What if he _does_ end up ruling the world?  I’ve always lived in America so I’ve never actually dealt with a monarchy.  What about you?  You’re from India, right?  But you definitely don’t seem old enough to remember the British reign.”

Bhavya smiles.  “No, I had just been born when my country gained independence, so I remember nothing of colonial rule.  However, I had family and friends who lived under the Raj for decades, and they were difficult years indeed.  I don’t expect that modern people who are used to freedom and self-reliance will be quick to submit to this man.”

Darcy chews her lip.  “Well, that’s for sure.  I’m just hoping that it won’t come to that … or, if it does, that he turns out to be … I don’t know, _good_ for the world?”

“Ah, but you are young and hopeful, Miss Darcy.”  Bhavya looks as though she’d like to pat Darcy on the head.  “Optimism is a sweet side-effect of youth.”

“Well, I may be young, but I _do_ know that we definitely have issues of our own, ones that aren’t going away.  Don’t you think that a strong guiding force – if applied positively – would help us by resolving long-standing feuds?  Like, say, the Middle East?”  Darcy pretends to fiddle with her room service tray while watching Bhavya from the corner of her eye.  “It seems as though every recent world leader has tried to solve that problem, but nobody can broker a truce, at least not one that holds.”

Bhavya looks out of the window, her expression lost in thought.  “I think that your instincts are genuine, and there is a bit of truth in what you say.  However … are our problems truly so serious that we must give up our freedom in exchange for a solution?  History – including my country’s history – shows that such a situation is never entirely without cost for those who have done so.”  She shakes her head.  “And this space-man, how will he understand our laws, our ethics, in order to make the best decisions on our behalf?  I do not feel comforted by the possibility of subjecting myself – subjecting the whole future of humankind, truly – to the whims of a being whose moral code is so different from ours.”

“Oh, I’m certain that he’ll surround himself with advisors from Earth to gain a little perspective.  I can’t imagine that he would _completely_ isolate himself from the natives.”

“That may be true, but it is a dangerous thought in and of itself.  Remember, those who gravitate towards power often seek it for themselves and therefore cannot be trusted.”  Bhavya turns back towards Darcy, her eyes grave.  “No, this whole business is a troubling one indeed.  I fear that there will be no happy ending to this story.”

Darcy swallows, completely unnerved by this sudden turn to the conversation.  “Oh, Bhavya, I hope that you’re wrong.”

Bhavya smiles sadly.  “As do I, Miss Darcy.  As do I.”  She shakes her head, taking a deep breath, and briskly clasps her hands together.  “Now … about your shopping list?  You’ve heard of the old saying: ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’, have you not?  I suggest that we hold our chins up and soldier forward.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After providing Bhavya with a short list of clothing requirements – just enough to tide her over for the next few days, really – Darcy spends the remainder of the morning and the early part of the afternoon watching television, reading newspapers, and taking copious notes about every passing reference to Loki by various world leaders and members of the media.  For anyone else it would be tedious research, but she feels that she’s in her element, gathering intelligence and providing situational analysis.  Basically, she lives for this stuff – and, for the moment, it’s better than the alternative, which would have been writing up her months spent with Jane and trying to convince her academic counselor that yes, aliens actually built a space bridge to the desert and yes, it could indeed be classified as science and yes, it’s also why she shouldn’t have to take two semesters of physics in order to graduate. 

_I wonder whether the mention of magic hammers and flaming Gundams would help or hurt my case?_

In any event, she’s so focused that she doesn’t notice that three hours have passed until there is another knock on the door.  It must be Bhavya, returning from her shopping duties, as Darcy hasn’t ordered any more room service and housekeeping usually calls first.  Opening the door, she is surprised (to say the least) to find a bellman pushing a tall brass luggage cart completely laden with boxes and bags of all sizes and descriptions.

“Good afternoon, miss.”  He smiles and hands her a note.  “Bhavya said that you’d be expecting a delivery.  She had some other errands to run but wanted me to drop this by as soon as possible.”

Darcy takes one look at the oversized load of boxes and bags on the bellman’s cart and knows that she needs to be alone for this.  She helps him maneuver the awkwardly bulky cart into the room, directing him to unload the boxes in the sitting room while she carries the department store bags into the bedroom.  Once again taking the opportunity to tip generously, she waves goodbye and locks the door, turning and facing her piles of loot.

Bhavya’s note is short but elegant:  Darcy should try on the clothes to make sure that they fit.  The other boxes arrived via special delivery from “Mr. Smith”.  With a mixture of foreboding and gleeful curiosity, Darcy rips into them like a kid on Christmas morning.

Twenty minutes later, she’s stunned.  Awed.  Thrilled.  And kind of embarrassed, because even though they discussed the fact that she wasn’t going to exchange her services for untold riches, Loki went _way_ overboard on the definition of ‘basic supplies’: A laptop.  A printer.  A huge box of legal pads, notebooks, sticky notes, fancy pens, paper and the like.  An iPad.  An actual freaking iPad!  Not to mention the new clothes – Bhavya bought everything on her list and then some.  There’s casual wear for hanging around the suite, business attire and dresses for when (she assumes) she can go out and about, workout clothes, pajamas, shoes, accessories …

_This is nuts.  Absolutely nuts.  What am I doing?  There is no way that I can pay him back for all of this.  I am in so much trouble.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit!_

Suddenly THE PLAN doesn’t seem like such a good idea.  Bhavya’s words from earlier this morning echo in her brain, and the thought of being seriously in debt to a crazy alien – compounded with the very probable likelihood that things are about to go very wrong, very fast – make Darcy jittery with fear.  She glares at the pile of clothing and her eyes land on the workout attire.  _That’s it. To hell with this sitting around and waiting nonsense; I’m going to the gym._ Time on the treadmill will definitely clear her head, and if she’s going to devise a plan – no, two plans now: his and hers – _because I’m damn sure going to need a plan of my own_ – then she needs to be thinking straight.

She quickly changes clothes, popping the tags off her stylin’ new exercise gear before she can question herself any further.  She ties on her old sneakers and quickly heads for the door.  Just as her hand touches the doorknob her conscience kicks in. 

_He said not to leave._

_I’m not leaving.  Not really.  I’m not trying to escape.  I’m just going downstairs._

_Still …_

Realizing that she’s now arguing with herself, seriously worried that this whole situation has turned _her_ into the crazy one in this relationship ( _NOT a relationship – a business arrangement, get a grip …)_ , Darcy takes a deep breath, yanks open the door, and resolutely marches down the hall to the elevator.

_Third floor.  Going down …_

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

As with everything else in the Madison House, the gym is small but completely first class.  It’s chock-full of high-end technology, expensive equipment and a refined atmosphere.  It’s also deserted in the middle of the day and Darcy has her pick of machines.  Eyeballing the treadmills, she instead decides to hop on the fancy elliptical, figuring that fifteen minutes of a thorough aerobic beatdown will clear her mind much more than a half-hour of jogging in place.  What she doesn’t take into consideration, however, is the fact that the elliptical is _seriously_ hardcore – the control panel alone is going to take at least ten minutes to figure out.  She’s poking randomly at the LCD screen, hoping to get some movement, when she hears the door open behind her.  Glancing over her shoulder, she is relieved to see that it’s just a generic-looking fortysomething corporate type in an old t-shirt and baggy running shorts.  He gives her a chin-up gesture in acknowledgement and heads straight for the treadmill.

She keeps jabbing at the screen and must finally do something right because her feet start moving in slow circles.  Adjusting the speed, she begins to bob up and down, backwards and forwards, and realizes that both machines – her elliptical and the other guy’s treadmill – have identical built-in TV monitors, both currently tuned to CNN and both showing the ominous path of a giant flying alien centipede floating throughout midtown Manhattan like the creepiest Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade float _ever_.

“Jesus,” shouts the salaryman next to her over the noise of the machines.  “Wouldya look at that?  Crazy, isn’t it?  I don’t know why they don’t just go in there and nuke that shit.”

Darcy gives the guy the side-eye.  “Um, like ten million people, maybe?”          

“You’ve got a point,” he pants.  “Still, that is _fucked up_.  Not to mention ugly.”

“Absolutely,” she giggles.  “I mean, it’s not funny, but when you’re right, you’re right.”

He nods.  “Yep.  I never thought I’d see aliens in my lifetime … but I was always hoping that if I did, they’d be friendly ones … you know, like E.T. or something, eating M&Ms and trying to get back to their own planet.”

Darcy laughs, a little breathlessly, because the elliptical is on an automatic circuit and it begins to pick up speed.  It’s all she can do not to fall off but her brain still keeps churning out the snark anyway.  _Loki, phone home …_

Her partner in sweat wipes his forehead with a hand towel and keeps going.  “Seems wrong to be doing day-to-day stuff while that’s going on up there, doesn’t it?  Hell, I’ve got friends and family in New York, and here I am on a goddamned treadmill like it’s a normal day.”

“I know what you mean,” Darcy puffs.  “I think my boss is in the city and I haven’t heard from her in weeks.  I hope she’s okay.”

He shakes his head, eyes glued to the screen.  “No frigging clue what these bastards want, anyway.  Well, except for the one dressed like he’s in the opera, but he seems to be in a different class than our other ugly friends.  I mean, he can speak without grunting, at least.”

Darcy nods but then realizes that he’s not looking at her.  “Yeah, for real.  I wonder what they’re really here for, other than to kill people for fun.  The other guy, well, he’s pretty up-front about his plans.”

“Yeah, can you believe it?  He wants us all to bow down and lick his boots.  That’s pretty much bullshit if you ask me.”

“Really, you think so?”  She decides to play dumb.  “I don’t know, he could turn out to be a good guy.”

“A good guy?”  He hoots.  “Sweetheart, did you _see_ the footage from Germany?  He almost blasted some old man just because he refused to kneel.  That makes him a bad guy in my book.”  He turns sideways for a moment and regards Darcy.  “Although I guess that he’s pretty good-looking, which is gonna get him legions of fangirls for sure.”

 _Sweetheart! Fangirl!_  Darcy briefly fantasizes about kicking the guy in the nuts.  Or tasering him.  _In the nuts_.  “Hey, chill _out_ , dude.  It’s not like I want to go make half-alien babies or anything, I just said that he wasn’t bad compared to the monsters.”

“Yeah, sorry.”  He doesn’t sound sorry at all.  “I just wonder what his real angle is.”

“Me too.”  Darcy realizes that she really does want to know why Loki is here.  She had assured him that she wouldn’t question his motives – but she doesn’t even know what to ask.  “You know, what if he isn’t good but also isn’t all that bad?  Even if he’s like, chaotic neutral or something, he could totally help us out with a few things.”

The guy is seriously sweating now, huffing and puffing as the treadmill inclines steeply.  “Yeah, he _could_ go wipe out the Taliban and Al-Qaeda, then maybe we’d be talking.  Straighten out those crazies in Asia, too.  Until then, though – he’s just a pretty boy with a big stick.”

Darcy has to laugh at that.  _Big stick, indeed._   Her fifteen minutes on the torture machine are up and she hangs on for dear life, her arms and legs reduced to jelly as the pedals wind down. 

“Hey,” he says, as nonchalantly as possible while he keeps his legs churning.  “What would you say to a drink later?  The bar in this place is supposed to be pretty good.”

 _Hell to the no?_   Her brain helpfully replies, but her mouth is slightly more polite.  “Um, thanks, but I don’t think – ”  Suddenly, he drops like a rock and bounces face-first off the moving track of the treadmill, landing with a sickening thud on the tiled floor.

“Holy shit!” Darcy yelps and leaps off the elliptical, crouching at the guy’s side.  He’s out cold, breathing but banged up, with a big raw scrape along the side of his face where he hit the rubber.  “Oh my god.  Oh my god.  Where’s the – ”  She scans the room wildly, searching for a house phone, only to see Loki, in his Asgardian costume sans helmet, standing in the corner of the gym with a wild look in his eyes and his scepter raised, glowing blue and pulsing with energy.

“Stop!” She shrieks, and his gaze locks onto her.  His lip curls in a silent snarl and he points the scepter at the prone form of her exercise buddy.  “I said _STOP_!”  She stands up and places herself between Loki and the now-moaning injured man, holding her arms out wide to block the next blow.  “Seriously, knock it _off_!  You can’t just go around attacking people for no reason!”

“Watch me,” he hisses.  “I suggest you move out of my path.”

“What? No!”  Darcy moves forward, defiant.  “This is insane.  You’re acting crazy.  What is _wrong_ with you all of a sudden?”

“Stand. Aside.” He grinds out, his green eyes bright and tinged with blue.  “This no longer concerns you.”

“Oh my god, it never _did_ concern me.  It doesn’t even make any _sense_.  This guy?  He’s a total stranger.  Completely harmless.  You say you want to be our ruler, our leader, but this?  This isn’t the way to go about it.  If you really want to be in charge, you have a responsibility to take _care_ of us, not kill us.” 

Loki stops, staring at Darcy, anger and indecision and something else that she can’t figure out warring in his eyes.  They stand there for long moments, locked in their battle of wills, both breathing heavily with a mixture of anger and exertion.  Finally, Darcy breaks the tension in the room by putting one fist on her hip and using the other hand to point to the door.

“You _have_ to stop this, Your Excellency.  Please go upstairs and wait for me – I’ve got to call the front desk and have them send down some paramedics.  This guy needs medical help, he’s probably got a concussion.”  She risks looking away from Loki for a moment to glance down at his victim.  “Please.  Just _calm down_.”

“I warned you, Darcy.  I asked you to stay in your rooms.  Why did you disobey me?”

She looks at him incredulously.  “You told me not to leave.  I thought you meant the _hotel_ , not my room.  You can’t just lock me in there!  It’s not fair.”

“Not fair?  _Not fair_ is placing you in danger.  _Not fair_ is watching you be tortured or killed.  I brought you here for a reason.”  He looks worried, now, the eerie blue completely gone from both his eyes and the scepter. 

“But _why_?  I don’t understand.”  A pleading note creeps into her voice.  “You haven’t told me _anything_.  I said that I’d help you and I mean it, but honestly – you have to stop hurting people, and you have to level with me.”

He glares at her superciliously.  “I do not _have_ to do anything, Darcy.  Do not presume to dictate my actions, especially in matters which are none of your concern.”

“None of my concern!”  She explodes.  “You pop in here without warning and blast a totally innocent guy – from _behind_ , even, while I’m standing right here – and you have the nerve to tell me that it’s none of my concern?  That’s bullshit and you know it.  And no, I’m not going to watch my mouth.  New rule – one freebie swear per assault with a deadly treadmill.”

He looks down at the man on the floor.  “I cannot tell you everything you wish to know.”

“Fine,” she says.  “Just tell me _something_.  But for now – I have to take care of this, I have to get this guy to a hospital.  I promise that I won’t leave the hotel … as soon as help arrives I’ll come back up to the room.  Please, just wait for me there.”

Loki sighs.  The anger and tension drain from his body, leaving him looking every bit as weary as he did the previous night.  “Very well.”   He turns to leave but stops, speaking to her without looking back.  “I find it infinitely perplexing, Darcy, that I feel myself compelled to obey you – whereas the opposite should be true.”  With that, he strides out of the room, the gym door slamming behind him.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

The perks of being in a five-star hotel are evident as the paramedics arrive almost immediately.  Darcy doubts that the response time would be as fast if they were at, say, a Red Roof … but she’s never been so happy to see a policeman before and is able to spin quite a believable tale as he takes her statement.

“Oh my god, it was so weird!  One minute we were working out and talking about the news, and the next he just keeled over.  I don’t know if he had a heart attack or aneurysm or tripped himself or what … but he was having a pretty tough time on the treadmill, huffing and puffing and sweating like crazy.  I was seriously worried about him even before he passed out.”

She gives her name as Darcy Smith – the cop doesn’t even bat an eye, go figure – and as the paramedics load up the now-conscious but groggy man onto the gurney he gives her a sheepish wave.

“Hey, dude, hang in there!”  Darcy leans over to squeeze his hand.  “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says ruefully.  “I don’t even remember falling down.  It’s hell getting old – I don’t recommend it.”

She laughs and waves as they bundle him into the service elevator.  Grabbing a bottle of water from the locker room, she heads back down the hallway to the regular elevators and eventually up to the third floor.  She’s walking towards her room when she realizes that she doesn’t even have a key to get in, seeing as she had been teleported directly into the place.

 _Ugh, I bet that was totally on purpose.  _She frowns. _Oh well, if he’s not in there after all I’ll just call Bhavya.  She’ll hook a sister up._

She reaches the large double door to the suite.  Raising her hand to knock, she stops for a moment. Now that the adrenaline of the encounter is starting to wear off, her earlier worries and doubts come flooding back.

 _What am I doing?  How am I going to deal with him?  He’s completely unstable, totally irrational.  He’s all over the place today._  She sighs softly.  _One manic depressive space alien, and I’m the lucky Earth girl who gets to be the Lucy to his Charlie Brown.  Come to think of it, he’d almost be easier to deal with if he was psychotic all the time, and not just …_

Suddenly it hits her.  _Of course!  He’s always nuts when he has that damn scepter in his hand.  Without it, he’s just garden variety bipolar, no worse than Jane … but with it, he’s totally demented!_

The puzzle pieces fall into place and she now has the first step of her plan, the secret Darcy-only plan that he’ll never know about. 

_Step One:  Lose the Scepter._

She knocks on the door – which turns out to be unlatched – and it slowly swings open.  Entering the room, she finds him staring out of the window, his back ramrod-straight with tension.  He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn as she closes the door behind her.  She is relieved to see that the scepter is nowhere in view.  _He must have put it back in his interdimensional pocket or something_.  She takes a swig of her water and gingerly perches on the edge of one of the chairs, not wanting to sweat all over the upholstery.

“So what was that all about?”  Even though she isn’t shouting, her voice sounds unnaturally loud in the hushed silence of the suite.  “What did you do to that guy, anyway?”

Loki glances to the side, looking at her through his peripheral vision.  “It was nothing – I simply stopped his personal timestream.  Had he not been standing upon that rather terrifying Midgardian contraption he would have been unharmed.”

Darcy’s jaw unhinges and her mouth drops open.  “Stopped.  Timestream.” 

“Yes, I suppose that such a feat would be impressive to a mere mortal girl,” he says, his tone arrogant with a touch of pride.   “It is impressive to most, as a matter of fact – it takes decades of study and practice to reach any level of adequate control, to say nothing of mastery, over the passage of time.”

“Holy Hermione, you need to teach _me_ how to stop time.”  She grins wickedly.  “That would come in handy like you don’t even _know_.  Or, well, I guess that you do.”

Loki sniffs derisively.  “Teaching a human to wield magic.  That would be … what is the crude saying?  ‘Like putting lipstick on a pig’?”

“What the eff, dude!”  Darcy is _seriously_ offended by that statement.  “There’s no reason to be such a jerk about it.  Seriously, what has gotten _in_ to you today?”  She frowns.  “First the blasting, now the nasty … I don’t get it.  You weren’t like this last night.  What happened today to set you off like this?”

He turns to her then, his eyes cold and distant but without anger.  “As if I need explain myself to you.  Whatever concerns for my welfare that you hold in your small human mind are completely irrelevant.  You claim to offer your assistance but cannot be trusted to follow the simplest of commands; I find it extremely doubtful that you could comprehend the gravity of the situation in which I find myself enmeshed.”

Darcy shakes her head, stung.  “Well, Your Excellency, you’re probably right about that.  But then again, my _tiny human mind_ is preoccupied with problems of my own right now.  You see, there’s this angry alien who is trying to take over my whole planet and nobody seems to be able to stop him.  Plus, he’s likely to go off the deep end at any minute and start killing people, so you can see that I’m not really able to focus on your situation.”  She sighs, her frustration suddenly dissipating as she realizes he’s feeling the much the same, hence the attitude.  “Seriously, this is all messed up.  We’re both on edge and not thinking clearly.  And you’re right, there isn’t much that I can do for you at this very moment … except, maybe, to listen if you want to talk.  You don’t have to tell me everything, you can just vent if you want to.”

Loki’s expression is nonplussed.  “You want me to … vent.”

“Yeah, you know, cry on my shoulder, bitch and moan, whine and complain.  You’ll feel better if you do.”  She grins.  “Come on, you know you want to.”  She points to the couch.  “Now sit down and tell Auntie Darcy all about it.  I’m good at this!  I was Jane’s sounding board for months.”

He eyes the sofa suspiciously.  “I fail to understand how the mere act of voicing my concerns could aid in alleviating them.”

Darcy snorts.  “You sound as though you’ve never had a bitch session before.  If you’ve lived as long as you’ve claimed, that can’t possibly be true.  Now – c’mon, the psychiatrist is IN.  Five cents.  Sit down.”

The look on his face is priceless as he gingerly picks his way to the sofa through the piles of boxes and newspapers.  “Apparently, your wish is my command.”  He adjusts his cape as he sits down, his leather-clad figure angular and elegant against the velvet cushions.  “Now, instruct me as to how I should properly proceed with this act of _venting_.”

“Well, the idea is that you just start talking about whatever it is that’s bothering you, and eventually you’ll feel better,” Darcy explains.  “But I get the impression that you’re not really into this whole ‘opening up’ thing, so how about if I ask you questions first and sort of lead into it.”

He purses his lips.  “Very well, although I reserve the right to withhold answers as I see fit.”

“Fine,” she sighs.  “That’s kind of not the point, but we’ll go with whatever makes you feel better for now.”  She pushes her glasses up on her nose and peers at him curiously.  “Okay, first question.  You look exhausted.  When was the last time that you slept?”

He shrugs.  “That question is irrelevant.  I rarely require sleep.”

“The question _is_ relevant,” she grumbles.  “You’re pale, you have dark circles under your eyes, your nerves are shot.  You’re fidgety, temperamental, and you have no impulse control.  You also look like you could just flop sideways on that couch and completely crash out.  So.  Sleep?  When?”

He looks away from her, inexplicably uncomfortable under her gaze.  “I do not remember.”

“You don’t remember,” she repeats.  “Okay, that’s a problem.  Because you may claim that you don’t need it, but your body is signaling otherwise.  And before you go splashing around in the river of denial, I can’t believe that the symptoms of serious sleep deprivation – all of which are super-obvious right now – would be any different for a space alien.”

“Your concern is noted,” he says, tightly.  “However, sleep is a luxury that I cannot afford at the moment.”

“Why,” she says, not a question but a statement, her voice firm and brooking no argument.

His gaze flicks at her from the corner of his eyes and then returns to the window.  “A myriad of reasons, not all of which are relevant to this discussion.  Suffice it to say, my need for sleep fluctuates rapidly. While I am currently in a state of ‘sleep deprivation’, as you so succinctly coined it, hours ago I was not.”  He rubs his forehead with elegant fingers.  “I shall be leaving you shortly and will no longer find myself fatigued.”

She looks at him oddly.  “Wait, what?  So you’re saying that you’re only tired when you’re with me?  I don’t get it.”

“My malaise, as it were, is only tangentially related to your presence,” Loki says, obstinate.  “It is not so much a matter of who I am with but what I have left behind.”

Darcy boggles for a minute.  “You know, sometimes I don’t even think that we’re speaking the same language.  Seriously, it’s like you’re the Sphinx and speaking in riddles.”  She holds a hand up.  “This isn’t getting us anywhere.  Let’s just say that you need a nap and leave it at that.”  She gazes at him for a moment.  “Next question.  Where is Jane?”

A rueful smile flickers across her lips.  “Your former employer is currently in New York City.  You need not fret, however, for she is under my protection as you are.  She and her mentor are endeavoring to complete a task on my behalf.”

“Wait, what?  Erik is with her, they’re together?”  Darcy sits up straighter.  “What could they possibly be working on for you?  Are you trying to get home again or something?”

He looks away, evasive once again.  “Not exactly.”

“Then what?  Is it something you need to take over the planet?”

He drums his fingers nervously on the arm of the sofa.  “I am currently in possession of … for lack of a better term, a source of infinite energy.  While I have been able to harness some of this power, it is necessary to further direct the output in order to fulfill my goals, chief among which is the protection of this planet and those who inhabit it.”

“Power.”  She stares at him, confused.  “Are you talking about Stark technology?  Because I don’t know how Jane and Erik could possibly help you with that.  Their expertise has to do with stars and planets and outer space, not renewable energy.”

He scoffs.  “Ah, yes, Stark technology.  I have witnessed the ‘Arc Reactor’ firsthand, and while it is mildly impressive, the power source of which I speak is infinitely superior.  As for your friends – their scientific acumen is quite adequate for this project, given that they have guidance and direction for the completion of their tasks.”

“Hmm,” Darcy rubs her chin.  She’s not quite satisfied with the explanation but doubts that she’ll get any further information on the topic today.  “Well, as long as they’re safe, I can’t complain.  But I still don’t understand how this all fits into the big picture, or why you’re so wound up today.  Has something bad happened?”

A rueful smile flits across Loki’s features.  “Foolish girl, we are at war.  Unfortunate circumstances are bound to occur on a regular basis; the past twelve hours have been no exception.”

“Wow, that’s helpful ... except, you know, _not_.”  She crosses her arms across her chest.  “I meant has something _specific_ happened, either last night or this morning, to put you in such a foul mood?”

“Again, there is much I cannot tell you, and this is for your own safety.  Suffice it to say that my so-called army is proving to be much more difficult to control than I had anticipated.”  Loki shifts on the sofa, his expression pensive.  “I am concerned that their loyalties are divided and as such, must focus more of my time and energies into directing their efforts than I had anticipated.”

She gapes.  “Wait just a minute – you mean to tell me that you brought these, these – _monsters_ here with you and now you can’t control them?”

He fidgets uncomfortably under her stare.  “I did not say that I could not control them; only that it is more difficult than originally intended.”

“That is just unbelievable.  I seriously don’t even know what to say to that.”  She shakes her head.  “Again, I have to wonder about your planning skills.  I mean, didn’t you check these guys out before you hired them?”

He stiffens.  “Your impertinence is most unwelcome, Darcy.  I suggest that you consider your next words very carefully should you choose to continue this line of questioning.”

Now it’s Darcy’s turn to have the twitchy eye muscle, as it’s only her brain’s insistence on avoiding certain death that prevents her from leaping across the coffee table and throttling him with her bare hands.  Still, she gives him her best death glare and hopes that it’s enough to get her point across.  “Well, at least you have me to help you with your planning now.”

“Ah, yes,” he leans back and gazes at her through narrowed eyes, seemingly unimpressed by either her self-control or her evil-eye.  “And how are you progressing on said plans?  I do hope that you have enough …” he gestures to the piles of boxes and electronics that surround them “… equipment to pursue your thoughts?”

“Oh, yes, well.”  She’s a bit flustered now that he brings up the topic of his generosity.  “It’s all very nice, thanks, although you went a little overboard. Honestly, I certainly didn’t mean for you to go out and run up your Asgardian Express bill for the month on my behalf.  Seriously, this must have cost a fortune, and I really don’t have the means to pay you back.  I’m hoping that you can return some of it?”

Loki waves dismissively, fluttering a hand in the air.  “These … _trinkets_ are of no consequence; you should be focusing your energies elsewhere.  I am far more concerned about the status of your plan.  Have you made any progress?”

“Yes, well, um.”  Darcy rifles through the pile of papers on the coffee table, looking for her scribble-filled notepad.  “It’s fairly obvious, from analysis of the media as well as from the people that I’ve spoken to, that humanity as a whole isn’t likely to submit willingly to your authority without some sort of compelling reason to do so.”

“Compelling reason?”  He leaps to his feet and begins pacing the room.  “Compelling reason dictates that your race craves authority; that you long for the stability, the comfort of rule.  Is it not a natural law, a fundamental truth – to desire the governance of a force stronger than yourselves, to be disabused of the false promise of freedom?”

“ … riiight.”  Darcy looks at him, unimpressed.  “I get that you’re a Spinoza fan, I really do.  However, I don’t think that you’re the god he had in mind when he wrote about the myth of freedom.  If you take his philosophy at face value, and claim that our actions and reactions are bound by cause and effect due to our over-reliance on emotions, I’d actually argue that _you’re_ just as much a slave as we are and hardly above the predestination thing.  So where does that leave any of us?  Besides, are you really suggesting that you want to – that you’re capable of – making every life decision for seven-billion-plus people?”

“Spare me the inane musings of your ludicrous Midgardian philosophers, Darcy.”  He stops his pacing to lean against the desk, glaring at her.  “You are attempting to confuse the situation through hyperbole – of course I cannot be expected to meddle in the daily affairs of your kind.  Such detailed consideration would be entirely counterproductive and beyond the scope of my intent.”

“Well, that’s just the thing.  I’ll say it again, there has to be some _reason_ for us to accept you as a ruler, and if you think that personal attention is beneath you then you just don’t get it.  You see, in order for humanity as a whole to enter into a social contract with you there must be an expressed benefit for both parties involved.  That benefit is pretty obvious on your side – you want unbridled power, I get it.  But you also have a responsibility to those whom you would rule.  _We_ need some benefit as a result of this bargain, whether it be protection or guidance or whatever, and first you need to decide which of those benefits – preferably more than one – you’re prepared to offer.  And no, protecting us against our very right to choose doesn’t count.  It all goes back to the question that I asked you yesterday:  _why_ do you want to rule the world?”

“And, as I explained last night, it is due me as part of my birthright.”  His tone is supercilious once again.  “As such, I do not need to do any soul-searching or explain my motives to you.”

“No!  That’s not part of the bargain.  You don’t get to skip this part just because you think that you don’t owe me any explanation.  You really _do_ need to figure it out before I can help you, and the whole ‘the Earth is owed to me’ isn’t going to fly around here.”  She shakes her head.  “There are things that I can do to start paving the way for your acceptance, but you’ve got to be honest with me – and honest with _yourself_ – about your motives.  That’s going to be your homework for today, to figure out what you really want and why you want it.”

“Homework,” the corners of his lips twitch.  “How quaint.”

Darcy grins.  “I know, right?  Let’s just call me your Adjunct Professor of World Domination.  It’s an elective, you know.”

He shakes his head, an honest smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.  “I can hardly wait for the graduation ceremony.  Tell me, will you be presiding over the honors?”

“Oh heck no, that’s not gonna be for a while yet, young man.  You’ve just started your education, after all.  This school doesn’t hand out honorary degrees, even for you executive types.” 

“For shame,” he says.  “I doubt that either of us have four years to spend on this pursuit; after all – your world is an impatient place.  Suffice it to say that I have mere days to begin Phase Two of my plan.”

“ _My_ plan,” Darcy interjects.  “I’ll have something for you tomorrow, I promise.  And in the meantime, let’s just think of it as a graduate degree … after all, I can always award credits for real-life experience.  I think that your portfolio speaks for itself.”

Loki laughs, a deep baritone chuckle that reverberates through the suite and right through her.  _Damn, that’s criminal.  Or it should be, anyway._

“I am pleased to earn your approval, Darcy, and look forward to my continued … _education_.”

She blushes, her traitorous brain suddenly flummoxed and at a loss for words.  “Yes, well, um.”  She pokes at a stack of papers to deflect attention from her flaming cheeks.  “I, uh, think that you’re feeling better a bit, yeah?  So venting did help?”

“Indeed.”  He glances around the suite.  “Suffice it to say that my mood has improved, and I no longer feel quite so fatigued.”

“Oh, no – ” She glares at him sharply, eyes narrowed, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.  “This does NOT mean that you’re off the hook in the sleep department.  You’re just going to go out there and do whatever it is that space invaders do and get yourself all tired and cranky again.  Don’t make me put you to bed myself.”  She internally facepalms as soon as the words are out of her mouth.  _Oh, I did NOT mean to say that …_

Luckily he appears to take her statement at face value.  “As I explained earlier, I require very little sleep.  As our conversation has refreshed me, I doubt that exhaustion will continue to be a problem.  I will agree to monitor my condition closely and to take steps necessary to prevent its recurrence.”

“Good,” Darcy exclaims, relieved and eager to change the subject.  “So, uh, thanks again for all of the technology.  I’ll be able to get so much more done now that I can access the internet.”

“Ah, yes, regarding that,” Loki interjects.  “I will redouble my efforts to warn you to be cautious.  One never knows who might be monitoring communications; even nebulous electronic ones.  I entreat you to act with the utmost of prudence while interacting with others via this ‘internet’, as it would vex me greatly to see you come to any harm due to our association.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she grumbles amicably.  “No Facebook, no Twitter.  Take away all my fun, why don’t you?”

He stiffens.  “It is for your own safety – ”

“No, it’s okay,” Darcy interrupts.  “I was just kidding, I really do get it.  I won’t even use my own email address; I’ll get one of those totally anonymous ones from the servers in Russia or China.  It’s kind of cool, sneaking around like a spy.  Or a double agent,” she concludes somewhat nervously, the reality of the situation suddenly crashing down upon her.  “Come to think of it, you’d better win, or I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison on charges of treason.”  _Ugh, they’re gonna ship me off to Guantanamo, never to be seen or heard from again …_

“All the more incentive for me,” he says reassuringly.  “I would not see you a prisoner to your own government simply for doing what is right.  I think that you will find me to be a much more benevolent ruler in that regard.”

“Hmm,” she sighs unhappily, her earlier nerves returning with a vengeance.  “Let’s hope so.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 


	4. The Diversion

Thursday evening finds Darcy once again bouncing off the walls of her lushly padded prison cell.  This time, however, it’s not from boredom but rather sheer frustration. 

Loki has not returned since the treadmill escapade two days ago and she can’t seem to find any trace of him:  not on television, not in the newspapers, not on the internet, not anywhere.  She has no way to reach him, no mechanism to contact him.  Nervous energy on the rise, she takes a break from her non-stop research to pace the suite in endless circles.  Stopping at the bedroom window, she pulls the sheer curtain aside and presses her forehead and nose against the glass in a display of childish impatience.

_Here I am, waiting to hear from my alien kidnapper, feeling like I’m waiting for a boyfriend to call.  That’s kind of … I don’t even know what that is.  I mean, since when did I become a girl who waits by the phone?  Or one that waits, period?  Or one that’s apparently a-okay with being kidnapped?_

Frustrated, she thumps her head against the glass.  _Ow._

_At least nothing has happened to him – nothing that’s been reported on the news, at any rate.  Somehow I think that if he turned up dead then it would definitely be all over CNN.  But … isn’t that sort of Stockholm syndrome-ish?  Like, why am I so concerned if something happens to him?  Shouldn’t I be even more worried if he turns out to be okay and continues slaughtering people?_

“AAGGHH!”  She lets out a short yell in an attempt to clear her head, to return to some semblance of normal thinking.  It doesn’t help.  She still has alien on the brain.

 _Seriously … he needs a cell phone.  Or an email address.  Or some sort of advanced alien communication device.  I wonder how they contact each other on his home planet?  They’ve got to use something other than random apparition._ Thinking of Thor and his hammer, she snickers.  _Maybe they just zap each other with lightning or magic or something.  I guess that’s as good a way as any to get someone’s attention.  Except that it doesn’t help me any …_

She’s even considering taking the matter into her own hands: leaving the suite, going down to the gym for round 2 with the elliptical.  Hell, even going outside for a walk – anything to get his attention.  Except for the fact that it’s nearly dark and, of course, raining.  It’s a typical late spring evening in DC and the clouds have moved in, along with a light but steady drizzle that patters quietly against her windows and paints the busy streets with blurry, bright watercolor reflections of the red and green traffic signals.  Dropping the curtain, she looks around the room and exhales a rather pathetic sigh.

_Way too early for bed._

Besides, she’s wide awake after having a long nap earlier in the day.  Well, what with the nap, an hour of yoga and an entire pot of coffee … of course she’s awake.  Awake, jumpy and bored.   Padding back out to the sitting room, she shakes her head in annoyance at the sight of her mess:  laptop and papers piled high on the desk, stacks of books, notes and folders making a shambles of the coffee table.  Her brand-new iPad is cast aside on the couch surrounded by several balls of crumpled-up legal paper, victims of her numerous attempts at devising a cohesive strategy for world domination.  There are pens and highlighters and sticky notes strewn all over the floor, making the entire area look less like the elegant salon that it is and more like a high-class dorm room with every passing minute.

 _Get it together, girl,_ she admonishes herself _.  It’s only been a couple of days.  If he still hasn’t come by tomorrow night then you can officially freak out.  Until then, it’s back to work on the Darcy Lewis Guide to Comparative Governments …_

She means to work, she really does.  She has every intention of working.  After ten straight hours of note-taking, though, she can’t force herself to read one more journal article, so she tackles her mess instead. 

 _Hey, it could be worse,_ Darcy smirks to herself as she rearranges the piles on the coffee table. _At least I’m not goofing off on Tumblr._

 

*             *             *             *             *

That night’s dinner delivery is once again courtesy of David, the evening shift room-service waiter who is quickly becoming a fast favorite of Darcy’s.  All solemn seriousness when she answers his knock, he carefully wheels the cart through the open doorway.  He immediately adopts a silly, exaggerated French accent and mannerisms to match the minute the heavy wooden door closes behind him.

“Pour vous, tonight, mademoiselle, we have le soupe d’oignon avec le crouton gratineé, et la salade nicoise avec vinaigrette, et enfin la soufflé au chocolat, but of course you are already familiar with the soufflé, non?” 

“Oui,” she giggles ( _giggles!_ ) and doesn’t tell him that she never did have a chance to try the soufflé.  Tonight, though, she only ordered the one dessert and dammit, it’s hers.

David waves her to her customary chair and begins adjusting and locking the table, opening dishes with a showman’s flair, narrating all the while in his pidgin French and silly accent.  “Le tableau ici, la serviette tellement … tout ce que vous avez commandé.”  He finishes with a fluttering salute of white linen napkins and a deep bow. Darcy claps enthusiastically; the only thing preventing her from a standing ovation is the fear of knocking her expensive meal all over the floor.

“Fantastic!” she beams.  “Although I’ll bet that you do this for all of the girls.”

“You bet,” he grins and pretends to twirl the ends of his non-existent mustache.  “The nine-year-olds, they dig it.”

“Really?”  Darcy wrinkles her nose.  “I’m not sure that I like being lumped in with the tween crowd and all.”

He laughs.  “Be flattered, be very flattered.  I only break out the Frenglish for the special girls.”

“So that makes me one super-special nine-year-old, huh?”  She smiles at David.  “Quick, let’s get some One Direction blaring and we can have a dance-off.”  Humming the chorus of ‘What Makes You Beautiful’, she bounces in her seat a little bit, sending the pepper shaker bouncing to the carpet.

He groans.  “No, no, anything but that.  I thought you liked me.”  They both laugh, looking at each other, and then the moment is over and an awkward silence descends. 

David clears his throat and suddenly they’re both speaking at the same time. 

“Well, Miss Darcy, please enjoy your dinner – ”

“So what’s it like working here?”

They laugh, together again, and it’s still a little awkward but she waves for him to sit across from her.

“Oh, no, I can’t.” He shakes his head.  “Against the rules, I’m afraid.  But … there’s no rule against _leaning_ ,” he winks and props himself against the desk. 

“Fair enough, although I’m going to get started on this while you’re _leaning_.” she gestures to her soup.

“Oh!  Of course, of course.  Please, go ahead.”  He urges her to begin.  “Working here.  Hmm.  It’s interesting.  You know that old cliché, ‘never a dull moment’?  Well, we do get the odd dull moment, but for the most part it’s pretty intense.  The people that I’ve met?  You would not _believe_ some of the names and faces.  Politicians, diplomats, actors, musicians … if our revolving door could talk, it’d be on ‘ _The Daily Show’_.” 

Darcy laughs at that.  “Really?  Do you think that it could hold its own with Jon Stewart?”

“I’m not so sure about that – it can only argue in circles,” he responds, deadpan.  “Anyway, yes, I’ve met some of the world’s greatest ... and some of the world’s greatest jerks.”

“Jerks, huh?” she comments, blowing on a spoonful of hot onion soup oozing with molten cheese.  “I believe that … but I’ll bet a certain percentage are actually nice people just having a really bad day.  Still, that doesn’t give them an excuse to behave badly.”  She thinks about Loki and his escapade in the gym.  She’s tempted to file him under the ‘jerk’ category just for that.

“Oh, of course.  We all know who the good ones are and they’re allowed to be cranky every once in a while.  It’s the ones who are total jerk-offs all the time that get on our list.”

“Ooh, a list!”  Darcy grins evilly and pretends to rub her hands in glee.  “I want to see the list.” 

“Absolutely not.  I need this job.  I will deny all existence of said list.  I shouldn’t have mentioned it anyway; there goes all of my street cred as a spy.”

“Wait, you’re a spy?”  She teases in feigned nonchalance, spoon in mid-air, acutely aware of the reams and reams of Loki-related notes currently stacked all over the coffee table.

“Ha,” he snorts.  “I wish.  It’s every native’s fantasy, if you know what I mean … growing up in the District, we all want to be like 007 – keeping secrets, protecting the country, bedding the beautiful people.  But most of us go on to be bartenders and waiters instead.  We still work for the government, except that we get paid in tips.”

“Oh wow, you were born and raised here?  I’ll bet that you’re just _steeped_ in secrets.”

He laughs.  “Yep, thirty-five years of absorbing information, that’s me.  Too bad that all it gets me is a paycheck and the opportunity to deliver dinner to political royalty.  I can’t complain, though … most people in my situation would kill to work here.”

“Still, that’s great cover for a spy.  And you probably know more about the people who stay here and their secrets than the government does, right?”

David taps his chin then runs a thumb and finger around his mouth.  “You’d think,” he says cryptically, crossing his ankles.

An icy shiver runs down her spine.  “Well now you’re beginning to freak me out, David,” she says as she stabs her spoon through the quickly-softening crouton atop her soup bowl.

“Well, I don’t mean to.  But you know,” he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “we’re all being watched, all the time.”

Darcy looks around in alarm and mouths her response in exaggerated silence.  “Is this room bugged?”

He shrugs.  “It could be; not that I know for sure.  But your internet connection?  Completely monitored.”  He wiggles his fingers at her laptop and iPad.  “Haven’t you been watching the news?  Turns out that they’ve been intercepting the internet traffic all along.  I’m sure that everything on the hotel wifi is going straight to some secret government server somewhere.”

She stares at him, nonplussed.  “I have been watching the news.  Nonstop.  All anyone is talking about is the alien invasion.”

He snorts.  “Sure, the mainstream media is falling hook, line and sinker for that bullshit.  Aliens in New York?  Come on, do they really think that the rest of us are going to be so stupid?”

“But – there’s – it’s just – I mean –” she sputters. 

He looks at her and immediately appears contrite.  “Forgive me, Darcy.  I sometimes forget that not everyone has been in this town for as long as I have.  Not everyone knows that the truth isn’t really the truth, and that we’re being lied to, on a massive scale, every single day.”

Darcy swallows with a gulp, thinking of Puente Antiguo and Thor and men in black suits.  _He has a point.  But still …_ “David, I don’t think that they’re necessarily making this one up.  I mean, my boss is in New York, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”  _And she is somehow working for one of those aliens, this I know for a fact._   She doesn’t say that last part, sure that he wouldn’t believe her – and not wanting to risk the fall-out if he did.

He shrugs.  “They control the internet, they control the phones, they control the media.  It’s all a big scheme.  They need to keep us preoccupied while they expand their empire.”

“Wait, what?  Why?  And who are ‘they’?”

“The government … or at least the shadow government.  The one that has nothing to do with politics.  The one that really runs the country, the one that never changes no matter who is in the White House.”  He looks at the coffee table, at her books and newspapers and notes.  “They need us to be docile, to be ignorant, while they consolidate their power and control.”

“But … how do you know this?  How do you _believe_ this?”  She pushes her soup away, having suddenly lost her appetite.  “I know that there are government agencies that do sketchy things – I’m not that naïve – but to think that they’d make up a freaking _alien invasion_ just to quash a story about internet spying?  That’s insanity, David!” 

He shrugs.  “Believe what you want, Darcy.  It took me a long time to discover the truth.  I can’t say that it made me happy, but at least my eyes are open.”

They stare at each other in an honestly uncomfortable silence for a few moments.  He smiles, sadly, and looks ruefully at her dinner tray.  “Sorry.  They’ll be expecting me back downstairs by now.”  He straightens up from awkward perch against the desk, inadvertently knocking over a pile of newspapers with his hip.  “Oh, I’m so sorry.  Here, let me get these – ”  he scoops up the papers, hastily turning them this way and that to put them in some semblance of order.

“Leave them, I’ll take care of it,” Darcy says nervously.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it.  It’s my fault, after all.”  David finishes with the pile and stacks the neatly folded papers on the desk.  He crosses to the door and opens it, then pauses.  “I didn’t mean to worry you.  Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The door closes and she stares at it, shell-shocked.  _What the hell just happened?_

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After three and a half years of college Darcy considers herself to be an expert at the art of the all-nighter.  Her first thought, as she wakes up, finding herself lying face-down on the floor wedged between the sofa and the coffee table, is that her elite skills are failing her in her time of need. 

Her second thought, as she blearily lifts her head up and forces her eyes into something resembling focus, recognizing the blurry image of Loki’s black boots located not three feet from her nose, is that she really needs to get one of those motion detector alarms – like the ones advertised in SkyMall – for the suite.

 _He’d probably disable it anyway, the sneaky bastard,_ she thinks.  _Maybe I’ll get him a collar with a bell on it.  Like a cat._

“Morning?”  She mumbles, her voice hoarse with sleep. 

“Barely,” he drawls, his voice sounding oddly distant for a moment until she hears the rustling of a newspaper.  She looks up to see the paper tilted to one side as he gazes down at her from his seat on the overstuffed side chair, one elegant eyebrow arched in humor.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Fantastic,” is her sarcastic reply as she pushes herself up with a groan.  “Why would I bother to sleep on a feather bed when I could be crashing out on a luxurious pile of post-it notes instead?”  Plucking a few of the offending sticky squares from her pajamas, she curls her legs up beneath her so that she can lean against the sofa.  “How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”  He ponders her question for a moment, head tilted to one side.  “My arrival was well past dawn, at any rate.”

“Ugh,” she yawns, putting on her glasses.  The time on her laptop reads 10:45.  “I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.  You’ve just been sitting there watching me sleep on the floor for _hours_?  I can’t decide whether that’s really, really creepy or just plain rude.”

“Hmm,” he replies noncommittally.  “I would suggest a third option:  polite.  After the dressing-down you delivered to me last time we were together I decided that it would be best to let you sleep.”

Darcy suppresses the urge to snort and stumbles rather ungracefully to her feet.  “Yeah, well, I’m going with creepy.  Now I’m going to be rude – I’ll be back in a minute.”  She heads for the bathroom and can practically feel Loki rolling his eyes behind her back. 

“I shall breathlessly await your return,” he replies.  She can hear the rustling of the newspaper as she shuts the bathroom door and turns the bathroom taps on full-blast.  Whether or not his bag of mysterious alien magic tricks includes enhanced hearing, she really doesn’t want to risk the possibility that he can eavesdrop on her morning pee.

_Weird.  Weird.  Weird.  This is just so weird.  When did my life get to be so weird?_

She quickly washes her hands and takes the opportunity to brush her teeth, then decides to swipe on some deodorant while she’s at it.  Examining her reflection with a critical eye, she twists her rather messy hair up into a quick bun and throws a bathrobe on over her pajamas before returning to the sitting room.

 “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with the faintest hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.  She sits across from him, for once uncomfortable in his presence, as his mood seems somehow different than it did three days ago and she doesn’t know how to react to this kinder, gentler version of crazy alien.  _Or how to reconcile the fact that some people think he’s a figment of my imagination._   Lacking any sort of patience after the past few days, she decides to let him have the full force of her temper and snark right away.

“So,” she begins, sitting up straight.  “Where the hell have you been?”

His mouth pulls into a slight frown as his eyebrows draw together.  “You are, of course, aware of the location of my current preoccupation, are you not?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.  Have you been in New York this whole time?  Opening up a new hole in the sky?  Or did you go off on another European field trip to blast more innocent locals with your scepter instead?”

Darcy immediately regrets her outburst as his face twists in anger.

“I see no reason as to why I should be reporting my whereabouts to the likes of you.”  Loki hisses, his eyes blazing and jaw locked.  “Do not mistake my indulgence for complacency.  I have temporarily spared you from the drudgery of mindless servitude – but make no mistake, I will have your respect.”

They sit there for a few seconds, locked in a battle of wills, until Darcy realizes that this is one stare-down that she’s not going to win.  “Fine.  I’m sorry.  _Very_ sorry.  I shouldn’t have mouthed off like that.  But did it ever occur to you that maybe I was a little bit worried?”

He blinks.

“Really,” she continues contritely, “I’m not sure why myself.  I just … don’t want anything bad to happen to you, that’s all.  I mean, I feel like … responsible for you, somehow.  Which doesn’t make any sense, but there it is.”  She sighs. “… I don’t know, actually.  It’s kind of hard to explain, why I would be worried about you, I mean, since we’ve just met and you’re kind of unstable and you’re trying to enslave my planet and all.  But I am.”

He blinks again, his face no longer angry but instead an expressionless mask that she cannot read.

“So.  Um.  It’s not much for an apology, but I am sorry.  And I was worried.  I’m still worried, about you, I mean.”

He blinks.

 _Damn.  Now what?_ Darcy casts her eyes wildly around the room, looking for help, when her glance lands on the coffee table.  The newspaper that Loki was reading just a few minutes ago – today’s _Washington Post_ – sits at an angle, and even if she wasn’t adept at reading upside-down she would be able to make out today’s headline, splashed across the front in 72-point font:  NEW YORK SAFE AS CRISIS AVERTED.  “Oh!” She yelps, leaping up from her seat and snatching the paper from the coffee table.  “Holy crap, what did you do?”

“Ah, yes.”  Loki smirks, his mood improved with the speed of quicksilver.  “My latest trick.  A sleight of hand; a simple diversion.  A gesture of goodwill to the citizens of this world.”

“Wait, what?  Where did you send the monsters?”

“Ah, the Chitauri.  They are … how shall I say it … otherwise occupied, for the time being.”

“What?”  Darcy is excruciatingly aware that she is beginning to sound intensely stupid, repeating the same word over and over again, but the answers aren’t coming as quickly – or as clearly – as she’d like.  “What happened?  Where did they go?  What did you actually do?”

His smile grows wider.  “I am alternately disappointed yet pleased to report that this time the diversion was not entirely of my own doing.  No, I had assistance by none other than your former colleagues.”

“Jane did this?  And Erik?  What did they do, exactly?  And where are the Chitauri?”

“Inadvertently, yes.  As I had mentioned previously, the Foster woman and dear Selvig have been laboring over a task to which they have been assigned; a task to unlock the secrets of an infinite power source.  While performing their amateurish experiments on this object they managed to create a miniature explosion, temporarily closing the portal between this world and the invasion fleet at large.”  His smirk widened.  “This blunder has proven to be quite beneficial to my interests – as the number of Chitauri warriors in this realm increased I found them exceedingly difficult to control.  Now that the tide has been stemmed, as it were, I am able to direct their focus in a much more satisfactory manner.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.”  Her sarcasm appears to go unnoticed.

“Undoubtedly,” he replies, “For it means that your beloved New York City is no longer under siege.”

“But – doesn’t that mean that you’ll be a target?”  Darcy can feel the tension building in her chest, her face drawing into a worried frown.  He must be able to read something from her posture, her expression, because he looks at once confused and concerned.

“I – yes, of course.  Such is the nature of warfare.  I do, however, have a plan to use the remaining Chitauri as a diversion, and will of course guarantee your continued safety.”

“I’m not that selfish,” she snaps.  “It’s not just my own skin that I’m worried about.  Jane and Erik – were they hurt?”

His mouth twists wryly.  “Not irrevocably.  The explosion caused a – forgive me if I am not entirely fluent in your technical lexicon – ‘feedback loop’, I believe, which then caused a ‘power surge’.  Your friends were in the proximity of this surge and were momentarily stunned.  They sustained only minor injuries that will heal quickly.”

She lets out a sigh.  “And you?”

Loki’s eyes narrow.  “Me?”

“Yes, you!”  It takes all of Darcy’s willpower not to facepalm, right then and there.  “Were you hurt?”  She looks at him, really looks at him, but can’t find any evidence of damage.  Even his armor is pristine.

“I – ” His expressionless mask is back.  “No, I was not in the vicinity of the explosion.  I appreciate your concern, however unwarranted it may be.”

She gapes at him and they’re back to the staring contest, except that this time it is Loki who cannot hold her gaze.  “You’re welcome,” she says uncertainly.  _What is his problem?  _She shakes her head. _Save the psychoanalysis for later._

“So, the Chitauri …?”  She prompts. 

“Stationed at various points around your world.”  He stands and begins to pace the room.  “Now that their numbers are more manageable I can move them as I desire.  I have chosen several strategic locations based on our previous conversations; the Chitauri will remain there to serve as a reminder of my strength but shall not menace the populace unless directly challenged.”

Darcy’s stomach drops at this revelation and she leans back limply in her chair.  “You’ve set up a global ‘peacekeeping’ force?”  Her voice is high-pitched.  “With _those_ things?”

He stops pacing to look down at her, his expression calculating.  “What else would you have me do?”

This time she does drop her face into her hands.  “Oh, god, that’s not going to work.  It never works.”  Her groan is muffled as she presses her fists into her eyes.  “I didn’t even pull a comprehensive list of United Nations activity for you … it never occurred to me that you’d do something like this.”  She swallows thickly, her throat tight.  “This is just … oh, man, what a cluster.”

Loki moves to the chair across from her and sits, leaning back with his fingers steepled beneath his chin.  He regards her for long moments, tapping his two index fingers together and then to his lower lip.  His voice, when it comes, is guarded.  “Darcy.  Explain yourself.  What is the meaning of your statement that ‘it never works’?”

She swallows the lump in her throat and looks around the room, down at her feet, anywhere away from him.  “Again with the no research thing.  I can understand that you didn’t know about Earth politics before you got here, and that’s apparently the reason that you kidnapped me.  But then you leave me here, alone, with no way to contact you.  How am I supposed to help you if you don’t let me?” 

She looks up to find him staring at her, his expression intense.

“Kidnapping?  Is that how you regard – ” he looks around the room, then back to her “—all of this?  Is this your idea of imprisonment?  Do you not understand that I am simply trying to protect you?”

Darcy mimics his earlier posture and adopts a neutral expression.  “This location is very nice, I’ll admit that – and thank you for it.  But yes, I am a prisoner.  I can’t leave, I can’t make any contact with the outside world, I can’t call my family to let them know that I’m alive and okay.  I don’t even have a way to contact you.  You come and go as you please, but I’m stuck here waiting.”   She shakes her head, once again carefully avoiding his eyes.  “You say that you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t understand why – or from what.  You say that you want my help and then ignore me.  What am I supposed to think?  How am I supposed to feel?” 

His expression has returned to its earlier state, wavering between concerned and confused.  “Darcy.  I admit that there is much I cannot tell you at this time.  I can only entreat you to believe that my continued reluctance to explain is simply out of concern for your welfare.  I have – ” he swallows, his gaze now avoiding hers, “I have made many enemies, here on this world and across many others.  Enemies that would delight in using my indulgence against me, to do you grievous harm as an example of their strength, out of revenge or wrath or simple enjoyment of unspeakable cruelty for its own sake.  It is for this reason that I have taken such great pains to conceal you here; it is not so much an imprisonment as safekeeping.”

She stares at him in unbridled horror.  “So you weren’t kidding earlier when you talked about torture and death, were you?”

“No.”  The corners of his mouth quirk down as he shakes his head.  “I wish that it had been a simple jest, but it is not.”

“Well.”  Darcy doesn’t know whether to scream or cry or whack him upside the head with a sofa cushion.  _Maybe all three?_   She can feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside of her, threatening to break free, and claps both hands over her mouth, pulling her knees up to her chest in an attempt to avoid hyperventilation.

“Perhaps it would have been best to have used the scepter, to have delivered you as a willing assistant to the Foster woman, as I had intended upon our first meeting.  I will admit that my improvisation has certainly complicated the situation.  However, I have every intention of emerging as the victor and of ensuring that you come to no harm as a result.”

Darcy’s incipient – and inappropriate – giggle fit is completely derailed by the mention of Jane and the scepter.  “Wait just a minute.  You mean to tell me that that whole scene in the gas station was so that you could take me to Jane?  You weren’t going to skewer me with your giant can opener?  Jeez, man, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?  I would have gone willingly, and wouldn’t have even jumped from a parking garage to get away from you!”  She shudders, once again, at the thought.  “Seriously, you could have just asked.”

He looks away, a cagy expression on his face.  “There were … ahh … mitigating circumstances at the time.”

 _Yeah, you were acting like a crackhead._   She shakes her head.  “Can you take me to her now?”

“I do not think that would be in your best interest.”  He continues to avoid her gaze.

“What aren’t you telling me?  You said that she wasn’t hurt – were you lying?”

His head whips around and he meets her eyes.  “No.”

 _Well, shit._   Darcy bites her lip.  “Then what?”

“I am afraid that it is another one of the myriad issues that I cannot explain at this time.”  He smiles.  “It is for your safety, of course.”

She squints at him.  “You know, that excuse is going to get old, really fast.  What else are you holding out on me?”

He shakes his head.  “I believe that you are the one ‘holding out’ on me, Darcy.  You owe me an explanation as to why you hold the opinion that my strategy with the Chitauri is doomed to failure.”

She exhales loudly.  “Okay, look.  I am not just going to let the Jane situation drop.  But this game that you’re playing?  It won’t work.  You’ve put those alien monsters around the globe as a show of force?  And they’re just sitting there, not attacking the locals, even though they really want to, right?”

Loki nods.

“The problem is that they’re really not there to ‘keep the peace’.  They’re going to attack the minute that anyone looks at them sideways.  And if there’s anything that you might have learned about human nature in your short time here it’s that we’re just not going to sit there and take it.  I can bet you that right now, even as we have this conversation, there’s at least one military force – if not several – who are planning attacks against your little warriors.  So you get a skirmish on one continent, then another.  Then another.  And then the whole thing blows up.  Do you think that you can control warfare on a global scale?”

A sly smile flits across his face.  “I’m hoping that I won’t have to.”

Darcy sits there, staring at him for a moment, until the penny drops.  “Holy shit, you are a crackhead.  You’re hoping that we’ll solve your problem for you, that our armies will eliminate the Chitauri so you don’t have to.”  She gapes, horrified, at his self-satisfied expression.

“Clever girl.”

“That is – I just …” She jumps to her feet and begins pacing the room.  “Do you have any idea how many people are going to die for no fucking reason?”  She whirls on him.  “What, do you think we’re all just expendable or something?”

“Well, not all of you.”

“You’re a psychopath!”

He smirks.  “I have been accused of worse.”

“What. The. Actual. Fucking. Fuck.”

He winces.  “Language?”

“Oh no.” She shakes a finger at him, her voice rising.  “You can’t expect me to be all ladylike now.  Not when you’re telling me that you’re going to incite World War 3 just to get rid of your pest problem.  Not only is this seriously not okay, this is not fucking cool and I won’t be quiet about it!”

“Darcy.”  He holds his hands out entreatingly.  “Please calm down.  If anyone should hear you – ”

“Then what?” she hisses.  “The cops come again?  Wouldn’t that be hil-fucking-arious?”

“What would you have me do?”  He hisses back.  “The portal is closed, offering me the singular opportunity to reduce the numbers of Chitauri warriors under my command.  I am simply following your lead.  After all, were you not the one who told me about these areas of unrest on your world?”

 _Oh, crap._   Her stomach suddenly sinks as she recalls an earlier conversation, one in which she did tell him about ‘pockets of crazy’.  “I did, but I didn’t mean …” her voice trails off and she flops, gracelessly, back down onto her chair.  “Oh god.”  She buries her head in her hands.  “This is all my fault.”

“Darcy.”  She ignores him, preferring to wallow in her … not exactly self-pity, more like self-recrimination.  “Darcy.”  He repeats himself, a note of princely command in his voice, and it is this that finally forces her gaze to his.  “Do you have an alternate strategy in mind?”

“I don’t know,” she moans.  “That’s the thing.  I have no experience with this, with any of this.  I study political science, where we’re taught that war is to be avoided unless absolutely necessary, and I don’t know that this situation falls under the ‘absolutely necessary’ category.”

Loki shakes his head.  “Warfare is indeed necessary; without it the struggle for power and dominance leads to an inevitable stalemate.”

“You call it stalemate, we call it diplomacy.  Is that so difficult to comprehend?”

“Peace is but an illusion, Darcy.  There is no true peace, just as there is no true freedom.”

She sighs again, this time bone-deep, and wishes that she could go back to sleep.  “So we’re back to arguing philosophy again?”

“No,” he says as he stands up from his chair.  “I can see that this conversation has been a trying one for you, and that it is perhaps best left for another day.”

“Oh my god, no, you are not leaving me here again, not like this.”  She stands up and – just in time, remembering his reaction from the other day – refrains from grabbing his sleeve.  “We still haven’t resolved the Jane situation, and we still have to talk about your reasons for wanting to rule the world.  And then there’s the whole torture and death thing, I wasn’t quite done with that.”

“Oh, we are indeed done for today.”  His tone is one of supercilious arrogance and that sets her off like nothing else.

“We are so NOT done!” This time she pokes his chest with her index finger, hard, completely disregarding the curl of his lip.  “You are going to tell me the truth for once and forget this ‘it’s for your protection’ song and dance.  What the hell have you done with Jane – and what do you want with me?”

“Fine,” he grinds out and grabs her wrist – hard – with his other hand.  “Since you are so obsessed with the Foster woman I will satisfy your relentless curiosity.”  With a strength that she wouldn’t have thought possible, he tugs her to press against his side and before she knows it, before she can even blink, the world pulls away in a long, slow spiral of darkness and light only to return with a resounding _snap_.  Darcy doesn’t even have her bearings when he roughly pushes her away, sending her slumping hard against a damp brick wall.  The smell of mildew and decay assails her nostrils and it’s all she can do not to sneeze as she peers one way, then another, down a dimly lit tunnel.

“Come,” he calls, wheeling away from her and striding into the darkness in one swift move.

“Shit,” she mumbles as she straightens and scurries through the darkness after him.  Two steps later, she splashes into a cold, dank puddle of something and realizes – _shit, shit, SHIT_ – that she’s still in her pajamas and – even worse – barefoot.

 _Oh, great_ , she moans to herself.  _Could things possibly get any worse?_

That’s when she hears – rather than sees – the squeak of a rat as it scurries in the opposite direction down the dimly lit tunnel.

She stifles a shriek.  _Apparently it can._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longish delay in between updates. Life, work, Tumblr, all things that get in the way ...
> 
> A special thanks to all of you who have read & reviewed and left kudos. I <3 you all!


	5. The Tesseract

The long twisting hallways are shadowed in murky darkness, punctuated every twenty yards or so by the blinding glare of overhead floodlights.  Loki, moving swiftly, is already well ahead of her and she can just barely make out the distant green flash of his cape as it swirls behind him.

_I’m going to kill him.  I’m actually going to kill him.  I’m not sure how I’m going to kill him, but I am going to kill him.  First, though, I’m going to get my taser back and zap his crazy ass.  No, scratch that, I’m going to get two tasers, one for each hand, and double-zap him.  That might actually kill him.  _

Doggedly, she struggles to keep up, gingerly picking her way through the tunnel on tender bare feet.  While the cement floor is relatively clear of debris, there are rivulets of rusty water trickling down the grimy tiled walls every now and again and she tries not to think about just what nastiness the puddles are harboring. 

_Sonofabitch.  Sonofabitch.  He’s a dead man.  No, a dead alien.  A soon-to-be-crispy-fried- … wait, what?_

Darcy halts her internal monologue as she reaches an intersection, stopping dead in her tracks.  The halls on either side of her give way into gaping mouths of inky blackness, causing her to shiver in dread at what could be lying beyond.  A chilly swirl of wind rushes through the emptiness towards her, driven by a far-off rumble of – _is that thunder?  No, something mechanical, what_ – and a crumpled, aged piece of newsprint tumbles by.  The air suddenly smells familiar, not musty and malodorous but with a tinge of oil and electricity and – _oh, holy crap, we’re in the subway,_ she realizes _.  We’ve got to be below the city, probably in an abandoned section somewhere.._. 

“Come,” Loki growls, backtracking his steps as she stands, caught by the sound of trains and her own thought process.  “Time is a precious commodity in these passages and I will not tolerate dawdling.”  He grasps her wrist again, none too gently, and pulls her along behind him.  After several twists, turns and one steep, narrow staircase, he stops in front of a large rusty metal door.  This upper hallway is rather well-lit in comparison to the ones that they’ve previously traveled and she can see additional doors down the length of the corridor – as well as movement in the distance.  Craning her neck to see around him, he steps sideways to block her view and gestures to the door. 

“Jane Foster is behind this door.  You may enter, but do not touch _anything_ and do not attempt to leave this room.  I will return for you shortly.”

“Wait!  I don’t – ”  Loki strides off purposefully, without looking back, and doesn’t hear her forlorn plea - “ – have any shoes.”

_Well.  Fuck._

She takes a deep breath and reaches for the latch.  It’s not locked, but the hinge is rusty as well and sticks a little when she attempts to push it down.  Grimacing, she yanks the handle roughly and shoves the door inwards with a well-placed shoulder.  It gives way with a huge scrape and a loud bang as it swings open.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she apologizes, more to the door than anyone else.  “Um, Jane?  Are you in here?”

Darcy pokes her head around the doorjamb and spots Jane sitting at a small desk in the corner of the cavernous workroom.  She is pecking away furiously on a computer and doesn’t appear to be startled by Darcy’s rather ungainly entrance.  To be honest, she doesn’t even seem to register Darcy’s presence.  Jane never looks up from her typing and Darcy can’t tell if she even knows that she’s there.

“Jane?”  Darcy clears her throat and tries a little louder.  Jane still doesn’t look up but at least addresses her.

“Oh, there you are.  Finally.  It’s about time, too.  This data needs to be entered and there’s been nobody to do it.  Erik can barely type and you know how slow I am.  We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I, um, are you okay?  Because you just disappeared and I didn’t know where you went and so I drove to Virginia and then Loki – ”

“Look,” Jane snaps sharply, “Can you just take over here?  I really need to get back to more important things.”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to touch anything – ”

“Aren’t you here to help me?  Then make yourself useful and do what I say!”  Jane pounds her fist on the desk and looks up, an uncharacteristically malicious look on her gaunt, tired face, and Darcy involuntarily gasps and steps back.

_Since when does she talk this way? Why does she look so terrible?  And – blue?  Her eyes are brown! Were brown!  What is going on?  _

Darcy stands there, gaping at Jane, until she feels a strange rippling of energy behind her back.  It’s as if the very air is vibrating around her – through her – and suddenly a cool glow suffuses the room.  She feels compelled beyond all reason to turn around and does so, her attention caught by a blue cube, apparently lit from within, held aloft by some sort of glass and metal equipment on the far side of the large workspace.  It reminds her of Loki’s scepter – but much larger – and so very, very pretty.  It glows and pulses hypnotically, and Darcy is helplessly drawn towards it, inching forward on bare feet.

 _Closer,_ a voice seems to whisper inside her head.  _Come closer …_  

Compelled, she draws ever closer to the cube, forgetting her scraped, raw feet and Jane’s odd behavior and the events of the past few days and her memories of the past few years and everything that she’s ever thought or felt and even her own name until the cube whispers _Darcy … Darcy_ into her head and she sees all of space and time and emptiness and then images from her dreams, images of the world put back together and people safe and happy and Jane back to New Mexico and Erik back there too and then Loki, in the White House, sitting in a chair across from the president and they’re surrounded by world leaders and they’re shaking hands and everybody in the crowded room is smiling and she’s smiling from the back row and Loki looks right at her and _winks_ and quirks a secret smile just for her and a wave of pride and something else, something tingly and undefinable, just _surges_ through her and –

Jane shoves her aside, roughly, and picks up some sort of small handheld device and begins to run it back and forth in front of the cube.  It makes quite a racket, whirring and clicking, beeping and flashing in her hands.

“Quick!” Jane yells, her eyes alternately on the device and the cube.  She adjusts a few settings and passes it by the cube again.  “Go get Erik!”

“Erik?” Darcy asks sluggishly, feeling woozy and disoriented and as though time is moving in slow motion.  “But I don’t even know where he is.  And I’m not supposed to leave the room.”

“Hurry up!  I don’t have time for this.”  Jane barks.  “Just go find him, will you?  Now!”

“But I – ”

“GO!”  Jane shrieks and Darcy, unwilling to risk having Jane’s tricorder thrown at her head, practically sprints towards the door.  Out in the hallway, she comes to a complete stop, nervously biting her thumbnail.  She looks to her right, which leads back into the darkness, and then to her left, where the other doors await.  She can see people milling about in the distance, where the corridor opens out to a larger room – but no Erik.  And no Loki.

_Talk about being between a rock and a hard place …_

Swallowing and squaring her shoulders, she turns to the left and marches to the first door down.   _He has to be somewhere close by, doesn’t he?_  Reaching for the handle, she wiggles it futilely.  _Locked_.

She moves on to the next door.  This one isn’t locked, but looks to be a small storage room with crates and boxes and other equipment stacked in neat, orderly rows.  _No Erik_.

With a sigh, she closes the door and moves on to the next one.  As she reaches for the door handle, she hears the faint sound of voices coming from within.  Pressing her ear to the door, Darcy concentrates on the voices and tries, to no avail, to discern Erik’s accent from the low rumble.  Biting her lip, she slowly, quietly unlatches the door and pushes it inward an inch, then two.  She peers through the crack and sees two men standing at what appear to be lockers.  Their voices are low and she can barely make out what they are saying.

“Move out at 2300 hours.” 

“Roger that.  Rendezvous point set with transport?”

“Yep.  Cargo will be loaded and ready to ship out by 2200.”

Darcy doesn’t even want to find out what they mean by ‘cargo’, so she releases the door incrementally, millimeter by millimeter, so as not to make a single squeak or scrape.  She’s got it closed and is almost home free when she is summarily brushed aside, just moved completely out of the way by a firm hand on her shoulder.  A large man in fatigues opens the door and addresses the men inside.

“Change in plans.  Green leader has arrived and changed the timetable.  Cargo loading at 1800, move out at 1900.”

She stands, stunned, as the three men continue their conversation without acknowledging something as incongruous as the presence of a barefoot twenty-something woman, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe, sneaking around the underground command center of an alien supervillain and his pseudo-military operation.  _It’s as if they don’t even see me.  Am I suddenly invisible, or …_

Darcy looks up at the man in the doorway.  _Yep, blue eyes. Glowing blue eyes. It’s like they don’t even know what’s going on around them, just like Jane.  I wonder if this is part of Loki’s plan?  Is he the one controlling them, or is it that cube?_

Backing away from the door, she decides to go back to the lab, to tell Jane that she couldn’t find Erik, to see if she can get through the glowing blue mind control and get Jane to respond to reason.  _Or at least get her away from the cube.  That would be a start._

She inches silently away from the soldier and turns towards the workroom when she hears loud footsteps and heavy breathing.  _Another soldier?  Keep moving and maybe he won’t hear you._   She keeps walking towards the lab when suddenly she’s grabbed by the shoulder again – but this time, instead of a shove to the side, she’s picked up and slammed painfully against the wall of the corridor.

“Ow!  Stop – ”  Darcy’s voice dies in her throat when she realizes this is no ordinary soldier.  Eight feet tall and a pale unearthly gray, with a face like the skull of a particularly vicious dog, the Chitauri grabs her by the throat and lifts her clear off her feet, pinning her to the tiled hallway with a snarl.  She grabs for its hand and tugs ineffectually, trying to clear her airway, kicking against the wall and its huge ugly body as it grins and raises its other arm for what will surely be a death blow.  Instinctively, she digs her fingernails into its hand and it grimaces – or maybe it smiles – as it tightens its hold on her neck.  Darcy’s oxygen supply is completely cut off, her vision fading to black, and the fight drains out of her as she can’t hold out much longer.  She gives one last feeble kick as the Chitauri laughs, a deep, evil growling sound.  Just as it’s about to swing at her, the door to the lab opens with a clang and Jane’s shrill voice echoes down the corridor.

“Darcy!  I thought I told you to – HEY!”

The Chitauri, surprised, loosens its hold on Darcy’s neck and she quickly takes the opportunity to wrench away from its grasp.  Dropping to the floor, wheezing and gasping and clutching her neck, she falteringly pushes herself to her feet and takes one wobbly step towards Jane.  The soldiers, drawn towards the commotion, move down the hallway in their direction.

“What’s going on down here?”  The tall one asks and looks at Jane.  The monster is still fixated upon Darcy, however, and she is beginning to think that the lab isn’t going to be a safe haven after all once everyone realizes that she shouldn’t be here. 

The Chitauri pulls itself up to its full height and _roars_ , and without thinking Darcy stumbles into a sprint and flings herself back into the darkened tunnel from whence she and Loki arrived.  Panting, she frantically begins to retrace her steps, running down the narrow, twisting hallways on shaky legs and tender feet.  She can hear the grunting and heavy footfalls of the Chitauri as it tracks her, and without the benefit of night vision she tumbles down the narrow set of stairs, banging her knees and elbows and whacking her chin against the metal railing.  Stars burst from behind her eyes as her teeth crash together and her glasses skitter off into the darkness.  She crawls around, wasting precious seconds, before finding them and mashing them back onto her now-bleeding face.  Picking herself up, she limps as fast as she can down the hallway, barely keeping ahead of the Chitauri as it lumbers, ungainly and huge, down the tunnels after her.

After what seems to be an eternity she reaches the intersection with the subway lines.  Steadying herself for a moment, she tries to remember from which direction the wind blew.  _Was it from my right or my left?_   Praying that her memory is correct, she turns to her left and ducks into the inky blackness.  After a moment of thought, she pulls off her filthy, bloodstained bathrobe and flings it across the main passage, where it hits the wall and then slides to the floor. _Let’s hope that thing is as stupid as it is ugly, and it thinks that I kept going straight_ … she prays as she waits in silence, pressing herself back against the wall and pleading with any deity that will listen that the Chitauri keeps going.  Finally, she hears it roar as it finds her robe and continues running past the intersection.

Wasting no time, Darcy moves deeper into the darkened tunnel, moving stealthily (albeit painfully) ahead.  This passageway is wider; she can’t reach both sides with her arms outstretched, so she keeps the fingers of her right hand touching the far wall as she limps along.  She’s in pain all over, but adrenaline keeps her walking, steadily moving forward until she can see a slight glow up ahead – the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.  Another, louder rumbling reverberates against the tiles.  A gust of mechanical-smelling air blows past her and she knows that she must be almost to an active station.  Relief bubbles up inside of her but she keeps silent, determinedly plodding along, until she arrives at a large iron gate with a revolving turnstile set within.  Rattling its rusty hinges, she heaves and heaves at it, not even concerned about the noise at this point.  One final push with her unbruised shoulder and it gives way, and suddenly – joyously – she’s standing, battered and bloody, barefoot and pajama-clad, safe at last in a secluded corner at the far end of Canal Street Station. 

 

*             *             *             *             *

The next few hours pass in a blur of doctors and police as Darcy is rushed by ambulance to the nearest ER for some patching up and questioning.  Luckily, nothing is broken, but she does get four stitches in her chin, a knee brace for her hyper-extended MCL, and is put under observation for a likely concussion.  A no-nonsense plainclothes policewoman ( _no, detective_ , Darcy corrects herself, having watched enough episodes of Law and Order: SVU) comes in just as the tech is sliding her out of the CAT scanner.

“Hello, Darcy.  My name is Shannon Rigby.  I’m a detective with the NYPD.  How are you feeling?”

Darcy resists the temptation to roll her eyes – mainly because it would hurt like a bitch what with the way her head is aching.  “Like I got hit by a truck, but otherwise okay.”   Her voice is raspy from the Chitauri’s attempt at strangulation, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage to her neck other than deep bruising.

Shannon smiles faintly.  “Well enough to be sarcastic.  That’s a good sign.”

“The day I can’t snark is the day they bury me,” Darcy smiles weakly.  “Seriously, though, I really do feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Miss Lewis – may I call you Darcy?”  Upon Darcy’s nod, she starts again.  “Darcy, we will find out who did this to you, but first we need to know everything that you can tell us.   I’d like to ask you some questions; do you think that you’re up for an interview?”

“Sure.” She tries to shrug but her shoulder hurts too much.  “I was kind of hoping that they’d give me some painkillers, though.  Even an Advil would help right now.”

Shannon nods.  “I think that they’ll be moving you to a room soon.  I’d rather do the interview there anyway.  Let me check.”

She bustles out of the room and Darcy heaves a sigh of relief.   She’s grateful for the extra time in order to get her story straight – for as much as she should probably tell the police about Loki’s secret lair under the city, she doesn’t want anyone else to die.  _Stirring that hornet’s nest isn’t going to work out well for anyone._

Plus, for strange reasons that she can’t – or won’t – explain, she doesn’t want to turn Loki in.  Not yet.

She tries not to think about what that means.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

As it turns out, the hospital doesn’t have a room available – not surprising, given all of the injured people that have been brought in since the Chitauri invasion began – so an orderly wheels a very groggy Darcy back to the emergency room on a gurney.  She’s trying desperately to stay awake as Shannon begins to question her about the past few days.

“There is an open missing persons file on you, did you know that?”  Shannon gestures at Darcy with a manila folder.  “They found your belongings in an unlocked van on the Culver University campus.  The local police said that there were signs of a struggle in the vehicle.  What happened in Virginia?”

“I was really tired when I got back to campus.  I’d just driven straight from New Mexico.”  Darcy shakes her head and winces at the resulting throb of her head.  “I must have forgotten to lock the van.  Did they say if anything was stolen?”

Shannon flips through the file for a few minutes.  “They found a wallet with your license, but no cash.  One credit card.  They did find your phone in the van, along with clothing and other personal items, but it definitely looked as though they’d been tampered with.”

“Oh.”  Darcy doesn’t mention that she didn’t have any cash left after the drive.  _Maybe if it looks like a burglary they won’t ask too many questions._

“Your parents are the ones who opened the missing persons report.  They said that they hadn’t had contact with you for over a week.”

“Yeah, I called my mom before I left New Mexico, but she didn’t pick up.  I left her a message and meant to call her when I got back to school … but, as I said, I was really tired.  I just wanted to go to sleep.”

“And did you?  Did you ever make it to your apartment?”

Darcy yawns.  “No, I bumped into someone on campus who needed to go to DC.  I had to go there too, so I ended up bumming a ride.”

Shannon pulls out a notebook and pen.  “And what was the name of this person?”

 _Crap._   “Um, I just know him by his nickname.  Friend of a friend, you know.”

“So let me get this straight.  You’d just driven across the country by yourself, are admittedly so exhausted that you leave your identification and belongings in an unlocked vehicle, and take off on a road trip with someone that you barely know?”

Darcy pulls a sheepish face.  “Wow, it sounds pretty stupid now that you put it that way.  I guess … well, that I wasn’t really thinking?”

The detective just stares at her for long minutes.  “You disappeared for a week.”

“No, I was in DC for most of the week and was totally fine.”

“But then you turn up in New York, wandering a subway station wearing nothing but pajamas, looking as though you’d been through a meat grinder.”

“Yeah, I know.  I mean, I don’t know.”  Darcy frowns and rubs her temples.  “I don’t really remember all of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“Falling down a cement staircase, mostly.”  She touches her chin gingerly.  “It’s all numb right now but I bet that it’s going to hurt like a bitch later.”

Shannon looks down at her notebook, her expression pensive.  “Did someone push you down the staircase?”

“No, I was running away from the guy who was beating me up.”  _Don’t ask me about the guy … don’t ask me about the guy …_

“This ‘guy’, the one who assaulted you … did you know him?  Can you give me a description?”

Darcy shudders.  “No, I’d never met him before.  I mean, not that I met him, other than having his hand around my neck.   He was big – really big – and ugly.  Really ugly.”

“Do you know why he attacked you?”

“Not that I can think of.  I mean, he didn’t really say much, just grabbed me.”

Shannon sighs.  “And you have no idea how you got from DC to New York?”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy sighs back.  “I’m just so tired right now and it hurts to think.”  She is so, so groggy and her head hurts more than she ever thought possible.  “I really just want to sleep.”

“Well, if you think of anything …” Shannon pulls out a business card and holds it out to Darcy, then stops.  “I guess that you can’t call me.”

Darcy smiles weakly.  “Yeah, no phone.”

“For the time being, anyway.  I understand that your parents will be here tomorrow; I assume that they will be bringing clothes and your personal effects with them.”

“Oh.”  Darcy doesn’t know how to react to this news.  On one hand, it will be nice to see her family – she needs some contact with normal humans who don’t happen to have glowing blue eyes – who also aren’t cops or doctors – but, then again, her parents will want to take her home with them and keep her locked up there for the next ten years or so.  _Twenty-one and grounded for life._

“Well,” Shannon stands, tucking the file folder under her arm, “It was nice to meet you, Darcy.  Try to get some rest tonight.  I’ll be back tomorrow before they release you.”

Darcy nods, her eyes already half-closed.  “Thanks.”

The detective stops, looking as though she wants to say something else, but shakes her head when Darcy closes her eyes.  She pulls out her cell phone and begins checking her messages, giving the privacy curtain a half-tug as she leaves.   She’s so engrossed in her task, in fact, that neither she – nor Darcy – notice the tall, dark-haired man wearing an elegantly tailored suit and a pensive expression standing in the corner of the exam room.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Darcy sleeps in fits and starts, woken at irregular intervals by the emergency room doctors checking on her (“Can you tell me your name?  What year is it?  Who is the president?”).  Her senses are on high alert, the adrenaline of the fight having given way to a nervous edginess that keeps her from relaxing fully.  She tosses and turns on the uncomfortable gurney, worried about Jane and the blue cube and the fact that Loki might come for her yet again and the fact that her parents are _definitely_ coming for her and well – everything.  It all whirls together in a disturbing waking dream that keeps her completely on edge.   

Around dinnertime, a kind hospital tech brings her another dose of painkillers and some water.  Once she’s swallowed the pills, he adjusts her pillow, flipping it to the cool side, and turns off the overhead light.   After a while, the meds kick in and dull the sharpest edges of her throbbing headache.  Sighing in relief, she settles into the pillow and finally manages to doze off.

Several hours later she wakes up to the distinct sensation of a gentle hand on her forehead.  Opening one eye just a sliver, she can’t see anyone in the room and wonders if hallucinations can be tactile.  Her brain is much too muddled for such thought at the moment and she drifts, gratefully, back into a dreamless sleep, comforted by the inexplicable sensation that someone is watching over her. 

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter - but this one has so much action that I figured that nobody would mind. :)


	6. The Deception

“Jesus, Darce, you look like hell.”

Darcy turns away from the grime-streaked hospital window at the sound of her younger sister’s voice.  Tracy Lewis strides into the secluded waiting room with her usual athletic grace, carrying a duffel bag full of what Darcy assumes are clean clothes and toiletries.  She flings the bag in Darcy’s general direction.  “Catch.”

“Hey, no fair.  I’m on injured reserve.”  Darcy bobbles the catch but manages to keep the bag from falling on the ground.  She gingerly stands, balancing most of her weight on her right knee, and limps forward to hug Tracy; always a delicate proposition due to their differing physical builds.  Where Darcy is petite and curvy and built for sin, Tracy is tall and sturdy and built for sport.  Basketball, to be precise, and although she’s just turned seventeen the NCAA scouts have already been sniffing around.

Still, her hug is steady and firm and if Darcy relaxes into the familiarity for an extra second, she’s not saying.  “Dad’s here,” she whispers into Darcy’s ear.  “He’s out in the hallway talking to Olivia Benson.  Probably having the time of his life – you know he doesn’t get to do much ‘real lawyering’ these days.”

“Yikes,” Darcy whispers back.  “I probably don’t even want to know what’s going on out there, do I?” 

Tracy pulls back with a half-shrug.  “Dunno.  The cop is asking him questions and he’s doing the thing where he answers without really answering at all.  It’s fun to watch, actually.”

They both smirk at each other for a minute but then Darcy turns serious again.  “Where’s mom?”

“She couldn’t get away – she has some sort of big release tonight.  Didn’t she tell you about it?  A system upgrade that her team has been working on for months.”  Their mother, Jennifer Lewis, is a project manager for a health systems software consulting firm.

“Oh, man, I forgot about that.  She’s going to kill me.”

“No, she’s crazy worried.  She actually almost blew off the implementation to drive up here, can you believe it?”

“No way.”  Darcy shakes her head in disbelief.

“For real.  She’s been beside herself.  We all have, Darce, we thought you were a goner.  What happened?”

Darcy sighs.  “It’s a long story.  I’m not even sure myself, but – ”

“Darcy!”  Gary Lewis enters the room, followed by a somber Detective Rigby.  “Sweetie, are you okay?”  He follows in Tracy’s path, crossing the room to envelop Darcy in a tight embrace.

“’m fine, Dad,” Darcy mumbles into his shoulder.  “Stop squeezing, okay?  I’m all messed up and it kind of hurts.”  She sighs in relief as his grip loosens.  “But thanks for the hug, I missed you.”

“We’ve been worried sick about you.  We didn’t know what to think when you didn’t turn up back at school.”  He holds Darcy at arm’s length, frowning as he catalogs her injuries.

“Yeah, well, it was just me being stupid.  I should have called …”

“Hell yes, you should have called.  Or come home.  Either way you would have saved us a lot of unnecessary grief.”

“Again with the being stupid, Dad.  I’m really sorry.  I just … didn’t think, I guess.”

At that, Detective Rigby speaks up.  “Have you had a chance to think since we spoke last night, Darcy?”  She has a small notebook flipped open to a fresh page, her pen poised and waiting for Darcy’s response.  “Were you able to remember anything about the past few days?  I’d really like to know how you made it to New York.” 

Darcy fidgets uncomfortably under the focused attention of the room.  She doesn’t know how to answer those questions without opening a Pandora’s box of even _more_ difficult questions.

_Somehow I don’t think that apparition is an acceptable answer, even if it is the truth …_

“I wish I knew,” she squints and frowns and puts on her best confused expression.  “I’ve tried and tried to come up with something, but I just don’t know what to tell you.” 

_There.  That’s not exactly a lie._

Her father looks at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, then turns to Rigby.  “Well, Detective, it’s as I said earlier – she’s obviously still suffering from the aftereffects of the concussion.  Her sister and I will take her home now, but you have my word that we’ll call you when we have some answers.”

“Yeah, go get dressed, Darce,” Tracy urges.  “I need to get back for workouts tonight.”

Darcy shoots Tracy a grateful look and then turns her attention to her father and the detective.  “Okay?”  Gary nods once, and Darcy takes the opportunity to scoot across the hall and into to the ladies’ room.  She quickly strips off the hospital gown and dresses herself in the sweats and hoodie that were in the bag – clearly Tracy’s as the arms and legs are each several inches too long – and stuffs the gown into a convenient nearby hamper.  She decides against pulling her hair back, instead brushing it forward in an effort to hide the worst of the bruises along her jaw and neck.  She can’t do much about her chin as the jagged line of stitches can’t be hidden by cosmetic means, but she hopes that the nurse will give her bandages or at least a gauze pad before she’s discharged.  Slipping on socks and a pair of well-worn sneakers, she looks in the mirror and sighs.

 _I guess there’s no avoiding the fact that I’m a complete idiot_.  _But at least I’m an idiot by choice … no mind-control going on here._

Darcy will take her small comforts where she can get them.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

It isn’t until they are well out of the city, speeding south along on I-95 in her father’s shiny silver Lincoln Navigator, when he asks about what really happened. 

“I’m not kidding around, Darce,” and she can tell from the tone in his voice that she had better come up with a convincing story.  Gary Lewis is generally an easy-going, affable guy, but even he has limits – and Darcy knows that she’s coming pretty close to pushing right past them.  Avoiding his gaze in the rear-view mirror, she snuggles down into the plush leather of the SUV’s back seat and looks at the New Jersey scenery whizzing past.

_I could totally kick Loki’s ass for putting me into this crazy situation.  Still, it’s nothing compared to what he did to all of those innocent people … and Jane._

She sits upright.  _Jane!  That’s it!_

“Well,” Darcy begins as she leans forward in the gap between the front seats, “Do you remember when I told you about Jane Foster?  You know, the PhD that I was working for in New Mexico?”

“Yes, of course.”  Her father nods, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Well, Erik – Dr. Selvig, her mentor – disappeared a few weeks ago.  Then the same thing happened to Jane last week.  It was the weirdest thing – one day they were there, and the next they just weren’t.  No note or anything.  I didn’t really know what to do.”

“Didn’t you say that they were a little weird?”  Tracy pipes up from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, but not like that.  The two of them ... they’re sort of dependent on me, you know?  I make sure that they sleep and eat and wear clothes and stuff.  So it’s really out of character for them to take off like that without telling me, for more than a day or two, anyway.  I mean, it’s one thing for them to wander off into the desert and do science – like, measure the distance between stars or whatever it is that they actually do – but another for them to just up and disappear.  I was beginning to get seriously worried.”

“Go on,” her father prompts.

“I didn’t know what to do.  I mean, Erik wasn’t answering his cell phone, and Jane – well, she’s such a scatterbrain, she actually left hers in the lab.  I had no other way of tracking them down.  I mean, they’re adults, right?  And it’s not like anything actually _happened_ to them, at least that I know of, so I couldn’t call the cops or anything.”  She frowns, pouting slightly, and sits back, crossing her arms.  “I was bored out of my mind in Puente Antiguo – they barely have _broadband_ , it’s such a nothing place – and being completely alone out there was totally creeping me out.  So I waited a few more days and then decided to drive back to school.”

“But isn’t your car in Virginia?”  Her father and Tracy share a sideways glance.

“So I borrowed Jane’s research van. Whatevs.”  Darcy aims for a breezy tone and hopes that they won’t comment on her budding criminal career.  _Grand theft auto, lying to the police, aiding and abetting a supervillian ..._   “Oh, and that’s another thing!”  She sits upright and leans between the front seats again.  “Jane took off in the middle of the night and left the van and all of her science equipment behind.  I mean, who _does_ that?”

Her father laughs as he signals for a lane change.  “Well, honey, did you ever stop to think that maybe she and Dr. Selvig took off together … on purpose?”  He smirks a little.

“Well of course they left together, I mean they both – OH.”  The figurative lightbulb goes on over Darcy’s head and it’s all she can do not to scream.  Or puke.  “Oh my god, Dad, EW!”  She shudders.  “No, no, no, no.  You’ve got it all wrong.  Erik is like, old enough to be somebody’s grandfather, and Jane …” _has a serious itch for an alien hottie, thank you very much._   “No, that’s not even an option.  Trust me on that one.”

“It would explain their disappearance,” Gary muses.  “But you still haven’t told us why you chose to take off for a week, or what happened to you.”

“Right, well.  I was driving back to school and heard about the alien invasion on the radio – ”

“God!” Tracy interrupts.  “Isn’t that just the most messed-up thing you’ve ever heard of?  I can’t believe it – actual aliens.  _On Earth_.  And they’re attacking us!  It’s like something out of a bad sci-fi movie!”

“I know, right?”  Darcy smacks the back of the seat.  “It’s crazy!  Have you been watching CNN?”

“Yeah, of course!  Anything to see Anderson Cooper cream his jeans in excitement.”  Tracy and Darcy grin at each other in shared news-geek glee.  “He’s so hot when he’s worked up like that.”

Gary looks over at his two daughters uncomfortably.  “You know he bats for the other team, don’t you?”

“Duh,” their voices ring in unison before they dissolve into evil cackles.

He reddens and uncomfortably loosens the knot of his tie.  “Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but it doesn’t explain why the NYPD notified me to pick you up from the hospital.”

Darcy gulps.  _He is just not going to let this go._

“Well, isn’t it obvious?  Jane is a space freak, and there are actual _space aliens_ in New York.  I thought that maybe she went there and that maybe I could find her, but it didn’t work out that way …” Darcy’s voice trails off, her mind out of excuses.  “Believe me, I feel like a total dumbass.  But I was just trying to do the right thing, you know?”

She can feel her conscience prickling. _Oh, girl, you haven’t been doing the right thing since that gas station in Oklahoma …_

She swallows guiltily.  _Damn conscience._

“So let me get this straight, you were _trying_ to find the aliens that are ripping New York City apart and killing people?”  His voice is incredulous.  Meanwhile, Tracy is biting her lip in a clear attempt not to laugh out loud.  “And you thought this was a good idea?”

“Jeez, Dad, I already said that it wasn’t, okay?”  Darcy huffs.  “And I still don’t know where Jane and Erik are right now.” 

“So what actually happened?”  His voice sharpens.  “Did you find the aliens?  Is that how you wound up in the hospital?  Or is there something else that you’re not telling us?”

“Well … ” _Gulp._   “I was too late?  I mean, the papers said that the aliens cleared out of the city, right?”

She holds her breath.  Keeps silent for a few beats, hoping that he’ll buy it.  _C’mon, dad, let it drop, okay?_

“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Darcy.”  His eyes flick up to the rear-view again.

She gnaws at her bottom lip. “Dad, I swear, this whole thing is about Jane.  What else do you want me to say?”

Gary sighs heavily.  “Listen, Darcy, wherever you’ve been, whoever you were with, whatever happened to you, I’m just relieved to know that you’re okay.  Mostly okay.  Your mother and I, your sister, all of us – we’ve been worried sick.  For a whole week, we thought we’d lost you.”  He presses his lips together for a moment, blinking rapidly, and then continues, his voice gentler.  “If you were with someone, a boy, and things went badly … you could tell me.  Tell _us_.  We wouldn’t blame you, honey.”

Tears spring unbidden to Darcy’s eyes.  She feels completely guilty, she can’t even meet her father’s gaze in the mirror.  _If only I could tell you. If only you could fix it.  If only it were that simple._

“Detective Rigby asked me … she asked me if you were an escort.”

“Dad!” Tracy shrieks.  “Oh my god, of course you said no, right?”

“Well, I …” he looks uncomfortable again.  “I would hope not.”

“As _if_.  I don’t know what it is with all of the _Pretty Woman_ references these days!”  Darcy lets out a bark of incredulous laughter.  “And no, I am absolutely _not_ a hooker, for reals.  I just … I just wanted to help a friend, okay?  And things didn’t work out so well.”  She doesn’t miss the look that passes between her father and sister.  “What?”

“Nothing,” Tracy says. 

“ _Whatever_.” Darcy snaps.  “Even the detective knew when to give it a rest, okay?  My head hurts.  Wake me up when we get home.”  And she snuggles back into the seat, eyes closed, her head cradled against the window, trying to ignore the fact that her own freaking _family_ would entertain the idea that she’d trade sex for money.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Darcy was introduced to Thomas Wolfe in her eleventh-grade AP American Literature class.  She enjoyed _Look Homeward, Angel_ so much that she took it upon herself to read _You Can’t Go Home Again_.  Even though at the time she’d been a total George Webber fangirl, it isn’t until she finds herself staring at the ceiling in her parents’ guest room, wondering how her life has become such a giant clusterfail, that she feels that she can truly understand him.

 _It’s just so small now, all of it._   The house she grew up in, the place she once called home, her family … it all feels like an old pair of shoes that once fit but are now too tight across the toes.  _They look great on the outside, but inside, where it counts – it hurts._

She sighs and rolls on her side, careful not to aggravate her shoulder or knee.  Her headache lurks at the base of her skull, her chin still a ragged mess.  Looking out the window to a view that is at the same time familiar and not-familiar, she wonders if she’ll ever feel normal again.  Or if she’ll have to redefine her own version of normal, now that she’s been kidnapped by a tragically handsome yet megalomaniacal alien, beaten up by one of his minions, and hypnotized by a psychic glow cube.  Not that it had been wholly unpleasant – the kidnapping _or_ the hypnosis – which leaves her ill-advised encounter with a Chitauri as her one major regret about the past week.

_Well, except for jumping off a parking garage. That can’t fit into anyone’s definition of ‘normal’._

She has no idea what to do, where to go, how to resolve her situation.  Even if she could reach Loki, somehow – what could she say to him?  For that matter, what could he possibly say to _her_ that would make things right?  Anything short of a full apology would be meaningless, and she doubts that he’s even capable of that. After all, he claimed to want to protect her, but in the end it’s his fault that she was attacked.  _His_ underground bunker, _his_ alien army, _his_ invasion …

And Jane.  Jane, her boss.  Jane, her friend.  Jane, trapped in a subway tunnel, under the influence of who knows what, not in her right mind, working herself too hard or (more likely) not in control of her own actions.  _That’s his fault, too._

At least Jane has Erik for company. _Who knows if he’s able to take care of her?  What if he’s in the same condition?_

Darcy closes her eyes and the room spins.  She feels drunk, but she’s not, just slightly groggy from the painkillers and still slightly concussed … and feeling disconnected, remote, as if she is watching herself from afar through a hazy blue-tinged filter.  She can still see the images that the glow cube projected into her mind, can still feel her heart racing from the thrill of the moment when Loki winked at her …

_Holy shit, what is wrong with me?_

She needs to get out of this room, needs get out of her parents’ house, needs go somewhere and do _something_ to help, something that has meaning, something that will change the future, her future, and Jane’s and Erik’s and everyone else she holds dear.  And if her vision comes true – if she ends up saving the world – then what harm could possibly come from that?

Determined, she pushes herself up, elbows braced against the comforter – and dizzily slumps back down on the bed, her head throbbing in time with her knee.

For now, all she can do is watch the ceiling fan turn lazy circles in the fading twilight and wait for her body to repair itself.

_And hope that I don’t go batshit crazy in the meantime._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

It’s late when she jerks awake with a start, panting nervously into the unfamiliar darkness. 

Completely disoriented, Darcy can tell that she is in her parents’ house, but the shadows in this room are different from those in her memory.  After three years of Darcy’s absence, Tracy finally took possession of Darcy’s larger bedroom with its _en suite_ bath. Tracy’s old room is temporarily being used for storage: full of random junk, most of Darcy’s remaining belongings, and furniture waiting to be given to Goodwill. 

The guest room, where Darcy is currently slumped against a pile of sweat-dampened pillows, faces north instead of south and has a maple tree just outside the window, filtering the hazy amber glow from the streetlight near the curb.  Its branches rub against the glass with a faint scratching sound and she wonders if the noise is what woke her up.

Either that or the dreams where she wandered aimlessly, lost in hazy blue underground tunnels, hearing the faint drip-drip-drip of water; the memory of which makes her realize that she has to pee like there’s no tomorrow.

_Ugh, nice thought.  Who knows how many tomorrows I have left?_

It isn’t until she finishes in the upstairs bathroom that she hears the low rumble of voices filtering up from the first floor.  Curious, she manages to limp downstairs as quietly as she can.  Two voices and quiet laughter emanate from the kitchen.  Darcy can’t make out the conversation from their hushed tones, but she can tell that one of the voices is female.  Hoping that her mother has finally come home, she peeks around the doorframe only to find Tracy and her boyfriend Darrion entangled in a hot and heavy make-out session, with Tracy pressed against the stove, the refrigerator half-open and food spread out on the kitchen island.

“Hey, kids, am I interrupting anything?”

Tracy disengages herself from the lip-lock and slides down from the stovetop with a strangled yelp.  “Goddammit, Darcy, a little privacy!”

“Better me than Dad,” Darcy snorts.  “Hey, Darrion, ‘sup, dude?”

“Hey, Darcy,” Darrion Waters replies, aiming for nonchalant but winding up somewhere between flustered and embarrassed.  He eases away from where he’d been standing – between Tracy’s knees – and Darcy hides a smirk as she pretends not to notice when he adjusts his raging boner.

“What time is it, anyway?”  Darcy leans over the island, squinting at the clock on the microwave.  “11:52.  Aw, good girl – you made it home before curfew.”

“Darcy!”  Tracy’s whisper is high-pitched and angry.  “Oh my god, get _out_ of here!”

“Nah, I’m hungry.  Didn’t get dinner.  What’s on the late-night menu?”  She starts poking at the sandwich fixings scattered across the counter.  “Ooh, mom’s potato salad.  Haven’t had this in a while.”  Grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer, Darcy starts eating straight from the Tupperware container and glances back up at Darrion with a grin.  “Sorry, man, I’m not supposed to have Vicodin on an empty stomach, ya know.”

Darrion clears his throat and looks down at Darcy.  “Yeah, yeah, it’s cool.”  He shifts his lanky frame again and casually leans against the island, tilting his hips away from her.  “So … uh, Tracy said that you got attacked by an alien?”

Darcy stops in mid-chew and glares at Tracy, who raises a defiant eyebrow in response.  Swallowing, Darcy responds to Darrion while never breaking eye contact with her sister.  “I never said that.”

“Oh, come _on_ , Darcy.  Dad may be walking around in willful ignorance but you can’t fool me.”  Tracy makes an exasperated face and gestures to her neck.  “The bruises on your throat?  Definitely a handprint – but not a human one.  It’s way too big, for starters, and there’s only three fingers.”

Darcy feels the blood drain from her face.  “It’s not – ”  _Oh no. No no no._

“Oh, man, lemme see!”  Darrion cranes his neck forward and Darcy instinctively steps back, flipping her hair forward to cover the bruises.

“I, what, no!”  She puts the bowl of potato salad back down on the counter and looks at Tracy.  “Look, I told you that it was a long story.  It’s really complicated, okay?  But I didn’t lie – I really _was_ looking for Jane, I just didn’t want to get into the details with Dad.”

“Yeah, but Darcy, _aliens_.  Aliens that are _killing people_.  What were you thinking?”

Darcy groans and covers her eyes with her hands.  The movement makes her head spin and she feels, rather than tastes, the potato salad in the back of her throat.  “I _told_ you, I was an idiot.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Of course I was _scared_!” Darcy hisses.  “You’ve seen them on TV, right?  They’re even worse in person.  The thing was eight feet tall, Tracy!”

“How did you escape?”  This time it’s Darrion who questions her, his brown eyes serious.

“Oh!  Did you zap it?”  Tracy’s eyes shine in admiration as she starts nibbling on a slice of bread.  “Awesome!”

“No,” Darcy sighs.  “I left my taser in Jane’s van.”

“You can have mine,” Tracy offers.

“But how did you get away?”  Darrion persists, a skeptical expression on his face.  “How did you bust through a Chitauri choke-hold?”

“I didn’t do anything, really,” Darcy replies nonchalantly, reaching for a piece of ham.  “It got distracted and I ran like hell.  Turns out that they’re not that smart.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Tracy reaches into the refrigerator for a Coke and hands it to Darrion.  “Or _not_.  Sucks to think that we were getting our asses handed to us by stupid aliens.”

“The other guy, though, the one with the blinged-out helmet.  He’s the leader, right?  The captain of the team?  Those guys are always the brains of the operation,” Darrion points out as he pops the tab on the soda can.

“Oh, the hot one?”  Tracy giggles. 

“Jeez, Tracy!”  Darcy nearly chokes on her ham.  She and Darrion both look in askance at the younger girl.

“What?  He might be cuckoo for cocoa puffs, but you gotta admit that he’s easy on the eyes.”  Tracy waggles her eyebrows at Darcy, who tries to force her rising blush back down through sheer willpower alone.

Darrion frowns.  “Baby, don’t be talking like that.”

“Aw, c’mon.  I’m just joking around.  But Darcy thinks he’s pretty fine, don’t you, Darce?”  She slyly pokes a finger in Darcy’s ribs.  “Look at her, she’s totally hot and bothered.”

“I am not,” Darcy retorts tartly, her cheeks flaming.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cocoa Puffs,” Tracy replies in a sing-song voice.  “Darcy wants some Cocoa Puffs.”

“Oh my god, shut _up_!”  But even Darrion is laughing now, trying to muffle the sound with his hand.

“ _Alien_ Cocoa Puffs.  I wonder if they’re chocolatey delicious?”  Tracy grins evilly.

“Well now you’re mixing ad campaigns, you doofus,” Darcy points out.  “Nobody can take you seriously.”

“Don’t need to be taken seriously.  I’m not the one in looooove with an alien …”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one having sex in the kitchen, so that makes us even, doesn’t it?” 

Eyes narrowed, Darcy and Tracy stare each other down until Darrion nervously tries to break the tension.  “Hey, c’mon, nobody’s having sex.  And nobody’s having sex with aliens, either, so maybe you two should simmer down and not wake up your dad?”  He rubs Tracy’s arm and smiles placatingly.

Darcy sighs and breaks off eye contact.  “You’re right.  Where is he, by the way?”

“He was in his study when we came in.  Pretending to work on his book but actually sawing logs to a Charlie Rose rerun.”  Tracy shrugs.  “I’ll wake him up before I go to bed if mom’s not home yet.”

“She’s still not back?”

“No, I thought for sure that she’d be home by now.  Something must have gone wrong with the upgrade … either that or she was too tired to drive home.  This new company actually gets them hotel rooms sometimes so they don’t have to be on the road when they’ve been working more than twelve hours.”  Tracy checks the clock.  “She’s been gone since yesterday morning, so that’s at least thirty-six right there …”

“Damn.”  Darrion shakes his head.  “And I thought my mom put in long hours.”

“Yeah, that’s why she gets the big bucks, though.” Tracy replies.  Noticing the unhappy expression on Darcy’s face, she turns to her sister.  “Don’t worry.  I’m sure that she’ll be here by tomorrow morning.”

“Hope so,” Darcy murmurs.  All joking aside, she just wants her mother.   “I’m going back to bed.”

“Yeah, sweet dreams,” Tracy grins evilly.  “Visions of Cocoa Puffs dancing in your head.”

At that, Darcy wads a paper towel into a ball and throws it in Tracy’s general direction.  Tracy catches it neatly, and the sight of her younger sister triumphantly sticking her tongue out keeps Darcy chuckling softly as she makes the slow, painful trip back upstairs.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Saturday morning in the Lewis household is regularly a low-key affair, today being no exception.  Darcy wakes up around ten and wanders downstairs to find her father in the kitchen, drinking coffee and flipping through _Baltimore Sun_ , having already finished with the _Washington Post_. 

“Morning, Daddy,” she yawns, helping herself to a large mug of coffee and fixing it just so.  She figures that the caffeine and sugar will help dispel some of the brain-fog induced by the painkiller she’d swallowed just minutes before.

“Hey, sweetie.”  Gary reaches for the remote and mutes the TV.  Saturday morning CNN programming, by the looks of it, focusing mostly on the cleanup of the invasion’s aftermath.  She pulls up a seat at the kitchen table and settles down, pinching the front section of the _Post_ from her dad’s messy pile.

“Did you hear from Mom yet?”

“Yep, she called about an hour ago.  She thinks that she’ll be home this afternoon.”  He turns the page of his newspaper, neatly flipping and folding the section over to where he can continue the story that he’d been reading.  “She spent the night at Johns Hopkins; they let her team take shifts in one of the empty on-call rooms.”  He chuckles.  “She should be in a fantastic mood when she gets here.”

Darcy makes a face.  “Poor mom.  Those hospital beds aren’t exactly comfortable.”

Gary peers sharply over the edges of his reading glasses at his daughter.  “And you should know.”

 She guiltily purses her lips and begins perusing the newspaper.  “Where’s Tracy?”

“Still in bed, I’d imagine.  Why?”

Darcy shrugs.  “I was going to ask if I could borrow her laptop.  What?”  She looks up at his dry chuckle.

“Good luck with _that_.  I doubt that you could pry it from her cold, dead hands.”  He shakes his head, no doubt amused by his daughters’ collective obsession with computer technology.  “She’s a slave to her Tumblechat – or whatever it is that the kids are doing these days.”

“Snapchat?  Tumblr?  Instagram?  Twitter?”

“Probably.”  He rustles his newspaper and begins reading again.  “You can have mine for now, I’ve been using the desktop lately.  Can’t seem to write properly on the smaller keyboard – and don’t get me started on that touchpad.  Damn thing selects text on its own and then before I know it I’ve deleted whole paragraphs.”

Darcy laughs.  “You know, you _can_ plug a mouse into the laptop …”

“Eh, you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.  No, thanks, I prefer my trusty old desktop.”

“Next thing you know you’re going to tell me about how back in the day you used typewriters.”  Darcy waggles a finger, pretending to lecture him.  “Uphill, both ways, in the snow.  And you _liked_ it!”

“What, am I that predictable?”  They grin at each other.

“You betcha.  And then you’ll be telling me to get off your lawn.”

“The lawn!”  He groans, leaning back in his chair.  “That reminds me, your mother wanted some tomato plants for the back garden.”

“Doesn’t the landscape service take care of that?”

“No, they don’t do vegetables.”  Her father begins to scoop the scattered papers into something resembling a pile.  “I’d better run to Home Depot, otherwise she’ll be on the warpath.”

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Darcy rolls her eyes.  “I’d go with you but, you know, in my fragile condition …”

He laughs.  “A convenient excuse.”

“What?”  Darcy gives him her best angelic expression. “Besides, you’re just going to get there and spend two hours looking at power tools that you don’t know how to use, anyway.”

“You wound me.”

“You’re a J.D., Dad, I think that you’re used to insults by now.  Especially when they’re mostly the truth.”

“Just you wait, young lady.  Some day, in the not-so-far-off future, you’re going to graduate from law school … and then we will see about truth-bearing insults.”  Standing, he bends over and kisses the top of Darcy’s head before leaving the room, completely missing the apprehensive frown on her face.

 

*             *             *             *             *

Twenty minutes later, Darcy is happily ensconced in a nest of pillows on the family room sofa, her father’s laptop and a bowl of cereal (not Cocoa Puffs, _thankyouverymuch_ ) on the coffee table in front of her.  The television is tuned to CNN and she has the sound low enough that it won’t wake her sister.  The front sections of both newspapers have been turned to articles discussing the invasion and she’s finally ready to get back to work on Plan B … _or, better yet, Plan D, for Darcy_.

She easily bypasses her father’s Windows password – _Mom’s name and birthdate, really, Dad?_ – and pulls up Firefox.  Within minutes she has the news sections of various papers throughout the world open in multiple tabs; she runs the ones in Chinese, Arabic, Russian, Japanese and Korean through Google Translate.  She’s looking for any mention of Chitauri ‘peacekeepers’ in other countries but can only find a few.  Darcy is not surprised that the global news is being censored; what does surprise her is that she can find any mention of the aliens at all.  _Good old AFP_ , she smiles.  _Can always count on the French to thumb their noses at everyone else’s government_.

Quickly switching over to another browser window, she pulls up Lexis-Nexis for a quick scan and begins trolling the message boards.  There’s plenty of anecdotal chatter out there, various people reporting Chitauri sightings (and some who claim to have seen Loki).  She considers popping open a few ham radio windows to actually hear the local reports but reconsiders that notion when she realizes how crappy the laptop’s speakers are.

She’s so busy making a list of rumored and confirmed Chitauri locations – and hoping to somehow get a bead on Loki – that she almost misses the ringing of the doorbell.  Not wanting to wake Tracy, she scuttles to the front door as fast as she can and peeks out from the cut-glass sidelight.  Nearly shrieking with delight, she flings the front door wide open to the blond Asgardian standing on her front porch.

“Thor!  Hey, big guy, we have _got_ to talk – ”

She steps out onto the porch, so intent on receiving a big bear hug, that she completely misses his somber expression – along with the four Suburbans parked in the yard and the black-suited SHIELD agents loitering in her mom’s flowerbeds.  Suddenly, two arms grab her from each side and a bag is unceremoniously shoved over her head.  She’s lifted completely off the ground and bundled off into one of the SUVs before she can even make a peep.

 

*             *             *             *             *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the interminable (unforgivable?) delay. I have only the usual excuses: life, work, unrecoverable hard drive crash, yada yada.


	7. The Interrogation

Darcy sits precariously in the middle of the backseat, wedged in between two burly SHIELD agents, as the SUV peels out of her parents’ driveway.  She shakily braces herself against the front headrests, hoping against hope that the driver doesn’t take any seriously sharp corners and send her sprawling into either guy’s lap.

_At least I’m not handcuffed.  I’ll take that as a win._

“Is this a rendition?  Because it totally feels like a rendition.”

Silence.

Beneath the stuffy confines of the bag over her head, she can tell two things: one, that there are four agents in the vehicle with her and two, Thor is not along for the ride.

“Where’s Thor?”

No answer, just the roar of the engine and the sound of traffic as they ease onto the freeway.  One of the agents’ legs relaxes into hers; she jerks away and ends up leaning on the other guy.  _Ew_.  Darcy withdraws even further, making herself as small as possible, but it’s no use – the less space she takes up, the more the agents usurp.  _And there’s a seatbelt buckle poking me in the butt. Wonderful._

Surprisingly, at this point, she’s more pissed than scared.  _Freaking Thor.  Next time I see him I’m going to … what?_

“So am I under arrest?  Because you didn’t read me my Miranda rights.  I know how this is supposed to go.”  Darcy babbles nervously, hoping to get some response from the four men surrounding her.  “Um, well, not from personal experience or anything.  I watch TV.”    

 _Even a ‘shut up, Darcy’ would be welcome right about now_.

Silence.

“Can you at least take this bag off my head?  I don’t want to, like, get carsick or anything.  And I doubt that any of you guys want the contents of my stomach on your dapper little uniforms.”

The guy to her left clears his throat.  Other than that, nothing.

Darcy squints her eyes a little bit, pulling her vision in close, and focuses on the inside of the bag.  It’s plain beige fabric, not particularly scratchy and just thin enough so that some light filters through.  _What is this, a standard issue SHIELD pillowcase?  Like, they get handed out along with guns and badges and those little white earpieces to all newbie agents?_

She makes a disgruntled whine in the back of her throat, but again – no response.

_Screw this._

Darcy shifts around, trying to get comfortable, and lets her hips come to rest against the men on either side.  _Let them be the uncomfortable ones.  _The agent on her right takes her squirming as an invitation to move his leg a little closer.  _Ugh, creep_.

“You know, my dad is an attorney.  Constitutional law.  I’m pretty sure that kidnapping me is a violation of my inalienable rights.  He’ll freaking eat your lunch if anything happens to me.”

The guy to her left clears his throat again.  He’s clearly the bigger of the two that she’s sandwiched between.  “Hey, so what are we doing for lunch, anyway?”  His voice is hoarse with a strong New Jersey accent.

“I thought you wanted Mexican.”  The guy on her right replies. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that we know where we’re gonna eat, now does it?”

“Well, we passed a Taco Bell a little ways back.”

“Taco Bell?  What, are you kidding me?  That’s not Mexican.”

“It’s not real food, either, but you ate it just the other day.”  The agent on her right seems to be sort of a smartass.  Normally Darcy likes that attitude in a guy – but as this one is at least one-quarter responsible for her current predicament (and kind of a perv, the way his knee is rubbing against hers), she figures that she’ll give him a miss.

“Nah,” the agent on her left continues, “I’d rather go to _real_ Mexican.  You know, one of those little roadside bodegas that serve tacos made of beef tongue and pig intestine and other scary shit?”

Agent Smartass (as Darcy’s internally dubbed him) barks with laughter.  “Yeah, not in this neighborhood.  Try again.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right.  Out here it’s nothing but that chain restaurant crap.”  Agent BadaBing appears to be deep in thought.  “We could find a Qdoba or a Moe’s or something.  I’d settle for a burrito.”

“No way, man, not Moe’s.  I hate their menu, all of those stupid made-up names that always make you feel like a douchebag when ordering.”  Agent Smartass continues in a falsetto.  “Hi, can I get a jumbo Assburner with extra beans?”

Agent BadaBing snickers.  “You got a point.” 

“And Qdoba, they’re just as bad with all of those girly sauces.  Who wants mango salsa or barbecue sauce on a burrito?”

“I like mango salsa,” Darcy offers, but the two agents continue on like she isn’t there.

“Then what?”  Agent BadaBing retorts.  “I’m not eating another freakin’ salad after this mission, that much I know.”

She feels Agent Smartass shrug. “What, like babysitting is so much work?  I also happen to _like_ salad.”

“Babysitting!” Darcy squawks.

“I guess we could go to Chipotle – they have salad _and_ burritos.”  Agent BadaBing sounds proud of his deductive reasoning.

“The day I see you eat a salad at Chipotle is the day I eat one of those burritos they serve.  Jesus Christ almighty, those things are bigger than my kid – and he’s three.”

“That’s enough,” a sharp voice rings out from the passenger seat.  “You two keep it down back there.  We’re still on the clock.”

Darcy feels, rather than hears, the disgruntled muttering of Agent BadaBing.  _Or maybe that’s just his stomach growling._  

Nonetheless, the conversation dies down and she’s left with nothing but the sound of tires on the road to keep her company.  An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settles into Darcy’s chest as they journey ever closer to their unknown destination.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After about twenty minutes the vehicle grinds to a halt.  Darcy can hear the agents unbuckling seatbelts and opening doors, and her sore shoulder is once again tweaked by Agent Smartass as he pulls her by the elbow out of the SUV.

“Hey, careful!”  She yelps as she stumbles onto the hard pavement with only her socks for protection.  Her brain begins to spin with possibilities as she’s frog-marched into a building.

 _We didn’t drive that far, so we can’t have made it all the way to Langley or Quantico,_ she muses _.  I wonder if SHIELD even has a headquarters in Maryland? _

“Hey, guys, I know we’re not in Guantanamo.  So … what gives?”

No response.

“Where’s Thor?”  She repeats; again there is no answer.

The silence is deafening; even wearing her pillowcase she can’t hear much of anything besides the heavy footfalls of the agents.  No talking, no phones, none of the other normal sounds that you’d expect to hear in an occupied building.  Just the heavy breathing of the two men on either side of her and the echoes of their wingtips on marble tiled floors.  She’s beginning to seriously freak out.  _What is this, the secret suburban underground lair of waterboarding?_

“Where are the other two guys?”

Silence, then the ‘ping’ of an elevator arriving.  A strong arm ushers her forward.  Darcy instinctively moves towards the back of the car and clings to the rear handrail for dear life.  She’s never been a big fan of elevators, and being inside one is even more unnerving when she can’t see.  The car starts climbing upwards and she cracks wise just to keep from throwing up.

“Hey, do either of you guys have a sharpie?  Because I’m gonna have to start keeping track of you on my arm or something. I know that there were four of you in the car and at least a couple more back in my driveway.” 

“Quiet,” Agent Smartass retorts brusquely as the elevator door opens with another discreet chime. 

_Right.  No sense of humor.  But at least I got a response!_

Guiding Darcy down the hall by a hand on her back, Agent Smartass leads her into a musty-smelling room and shoves her, rather unceremoniously, into a straight-backed chair.  He and Agent BadaBing resume their conversation about lunch plans as they leave the room, the door closing and locking behind them.  As soon as they’re gone, she reaches up and pulls the bag from her head, sucking in greedy lungfuls of oxygen as the air conditioning kicks on.

Glancing around the room, Darcy realizes that she’s trapped in what appears to be an abandoned office, small and square and blandly beige with gray carpet.  She is seated at a small round table; the only other furniture in the room being two chairs pushed in the corner, both of which have seen better days.  A phone cord snakes out of a wall socket and dangles limply on the ground, forlornly unattached at the other end.  There’s nothing else in the room, no clock or computer or anything that she can use to gain her bearings, just the dusty table and scuffed walls and her own rapid breathing as she tries to cover her nerves.

Minutes tick by and Darcy can hear voices rumbling from the hallway.  She can’t make out what they are saying, but they come and go and come back again.

 _Let’s just get on with it_ … she urges internally, and then retracts that wish when the door opens.  Yet another agent, a lithe, square-jawed, black-suited man wearing a stern expression, sidles into the room and closes the door behind him.  He holds an iPad in his hand, tilting it away from Darcy as he catches her craning her neck to take a peek at the screen.

“Miss Lewis, my name is Agent Pierce.  I’m here to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts over the past few days.”

Darcy just looks at him, eyebrow raised.  He stares back at her steadily.  The silence stretches out until she decides that it’s probably not a good idea to play chicken with a SHIELD agent.

“Don’t I get a phone call?”

A smile flickers around the corners of his mouth.  “Of course you do.  Once you’re under arrest.”

“Oh, so I’m not under arrest?  Wow, what a relief.  That means I’m free to go, right?  This is all just a big misunderstanding?”  She pushes her chair back and attempts to stand.  One of Agent Pierce’s hands shoot out and clamps around her wrist.

“Sit down, Miss Lewis.”

_Well, crap._

“Miss Lewis – may I call you Darcy?”

“No.”  _We’re not friends._

“Fine by me.”  He straightens up in his chair.  “Miss Lewis, we have reason to believe that you are in possession of information regarding a vital matter of national security.”

“What?  Me?”

“We know that you have been in contact with a certain individual, a known terrorist, who has in recent days made it to the top of every nation’s most wanted list.  We also have reason to believe that you are aware of his current location.”

“Terrorist?”  Darcy squeaks.  “What terrorist?  I’ve never even _been_ to the Middle East!”

Agent Pierce eyes her, clearly unamused.  Without speaking, he places the iPad on the table, spins it so that it faces Darcy, and presses the ‘play’ button.  She looks at the screen, attention riveted, as grainy footage of her gas station encounter with Loki begins to unfold.  Shaking, she watches through as much of the scene as she can before looking back up at Agent Pierce.

“Terrorist?” she whispers.  _I am so fucked._

He shifts uncomfortably in the rickety office chair.  “You are the only person known to have escaped an encounter with this … individual.  Do you want to tell me how you managed it?”

“Red Bull, it give you wings,” she blurts out without really thinking about it and nearly kicks herself as his expression darkens further.  “No, sorry, I’m just kidding.  Well, sort of kidding.  I got lucky, I guess?  He was … well, all over the place, like strung out almost, and I just completely flipped, you know?  And he wasn’t expecting it and I got away.”

“And what did you do next?”

“I hightailed it out of there,” Darcy responds.  “Like I said, I escaped and then drove as fast as I could back to school.  Culver University.”

He nods.  “We know this, it was in the police report.”  A smile plays at the corner of his mouth.  “Or, should I say, _reports_.  Both of them.”

“Oh.  Right.”

“There’s more,” he states flatly.  “I’m waiting.”

“I didn’t know what to do.  He’s an _alien_.”

“Terrorist.”

“Um,” Darcy says nervously.  “Alien terrorist?”

“Miss Lewis,” he sighs, in a voice that lets Darcy know that he is approximately 150% done with her stalling tactics.  “We already know that you drove back to school.  The report from the NYPD mentions that you then went to DC.  You were there, with an unknown accomplice, for an unknown period of time, when you suddenly turned up in New York, having been a victim of assault and battery, assailant – again – unknown.”  He pulls his chair closer to the table and leans forward, looming over Darcy.  “You understand that there are too many unknowns in this story for my comfort level.”

“I went off the grid, dude.”  She shrugs.  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“And the trip to New York City?”

“I was looking for my friend – well, my old boss.  Jane Foster.”

“And did you find her?”

“Well, not exactly.”  Her voice trails off uncomfortably.

“And have you seen this individual again?”  His finger stabs at the screen, viciously poking Loki’s frozen image.

_Yes.  Say yes.  Be smart, Darcy, say yes._

“Well, of course – he’s all over TV, right?”

He leans back, glaring at her, then turns the iPad to face himself.  Making a big show of scrolling through pages that she cannot see, he raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm.  Just two more semesters to go at Culver.  Political science and history dual major, concentration in pre-law.  3.84 grade point average, that’s pretty impressive, especially at your age.”

Darcy just stares at him, her voice caught in her throat.

“I expect that you’ve already started looking into grad schools, eh?  Georgetown, Harvard Law, Columbia?”

She feels the blood drain from her face.  _How does he –_

“It would be too bad, wouldn’t it, if the admissions offices of those illustrious universities were to know that you’d had two … how shall we put it … less than friendly encounters with us?”  He laughs, low and dangerous, at her expression.  “Oh, yes, it’s all here in your file.  Jane Foster, Puente Antiguo.  Of course, Thor confirmed everything once he started working for us.  We never did follow through on those forgery or obstruction of justice charges, but the statute of limitations hasn’t expired on either count.”

He continues scrolling down, clearly relishing this part of the conversation.  “And here’s an interesting note to file.  Father, Gary Lewis – my, my, you’re the daughter of _the_ Gary Lewis?  Former prosecutor, constitutional scholar, contributing partner of the Bradford Center think tank, author of three textbooks and countless journal articles on the role of law in civilized society?  Does he have any future political leanings, do you think?  It sure would be a shame if it were to get out that his daughter, a felon, has been associating with a known terrorist …”

He looks up at Darcy, mistaking her fearful silence for defiance.  “What?  Should I keep going?  We could talk about your mother’s high-powered career in information technology, your sister’s fledgling college basketball hopes … I could explain to you how your whole family’s considerable success is just a house of cards, waiting to be knocked over by one word from me.”

“You … I …” Darcy can’t speak, she’s frozen to her seat.  _Not mom.  Not dad.  I’ll tell you anything you want to know.  I … I …_

“Thor?”  Her voice is high and breathy.  It’s all she can choke out at this point.

Agent Pierce shakes his head.  “Sorry, little lady – I mean, Miss Lewis – Thor is attending to other business right now.”  He gives her a predatory once-over, obviously enjoying the turn the interrogation has taken.  “Still don’t feel like talking to me?  That’s too bad.  I guess I’ll have to up the ante a little.”

He pushes back from the table, stands walks over to the door.  After two quiet knocks, it opens just a crack and he murmurs something to a person out in the hallway.  He passes the iPad out and receives something that Darcy can’t see in return.  Turning back to her, he sits down at the table and places a small syringe between them.

_Oh.  Oh.  Oh my god, is that … truth serum?_

“Now.  I wanted to do this the easy way, but we can do it the hard way.  Your choice.”

Tears leak out of Darcy’s eyes as she clutches the edge of the table, staring helplessly at the syringe.  Her throat tight, she couldn’t talk now even if she wanted to – which she doesn’t, not to this guy.

“Thor,” she whimpers.  “I want to talk to Thor.”

A long, slow grin curls across his face.  Darcy stares, transfixed, as he begins to reach for the syringe.  “As I said, he’s moved on to another assignment.  I’m also afraid that he isn’t cleared for this level of intelligence.  It’s just you and me for today.”

 _He’s getting off on this, the sicko!_   Darcy takes a deep breath, ready to scream, and at that very moment, the overhead lights die out.

“Oh, what _now_ ,” Agent Pierce slams his palm down on the table, making Darcy involuntarily gasp and squeak in surprise.  “Report!”  She can picture him, in the dark, with a finger pressed to his earpiece.  “Copy that,” he barks into his microphone, simultaneously pushing his chair back from the table.  “You – stay here.  I’ll be back – and you’d better be ready to talk when I get here.”

“Wait!  You can’t – ” she begins, and doesn’t finish her sentence before he’s out of the room.  She can hear distant shouting from the hallway as he closes the door, and then the unmistakable _click_ of the door locking behind him.  Darcy lets out a shaky groan and slumps on the table, her head cradled in the crook of her folded arms, as she trembles and blinks back tears and wonders how things could possibly get any worse.

_I don’t even know._

Her shoulder twinges and she grimaces in pain, straightening her arm in an effort to relieve the cramping.  The edge of her hand brushes something unexpected on the table and she freezes in shock.

_The truth serum.  That slimeball left it behind!_

Without hesitation, she palms the syringe and stuffs it up her sleeve.  At best, she can use it to her advantage; at worst, Agent Pierce will have to manhandle her to get it back.

_All the more ammunition for the inevitable lawsuit.  Daddy, you’d be so proud._

Shaking her head as if to clear all thoughts of her family from her mind, Darcy stands and begins to blindly feel her way to the door.  She pointlessly jiggles the handle, then flips the room’s light switch on and off, both to no avail.  Suddenly, the building’s fire alarm blares to life.  She freezes in shock and then begins banging on the door in abject panic.  _Oh hell no, I’m not dying in here!_  

“Hey!  Help!  I’m locked in!!!  Come _on_ , guys, this is totally not cool!  Help!”

Kicking and pounding at the door, she pulls ineffectually at the handle, all the while keeping up her full-volume shouting and letting forth with a litany of curses.  She’s considering the probability that she could actually bash the door hinges off with one of the chairs when she hears the handle rattle from the outside.

“Agent Pierce!  Let me out of here right now!”

“Lady Darcy!”  Booms the response.  “Stand back!”

“Thor!” Darcy yells over the din of the alarm, “Thor, is that you?”

“Hurry, there is very little time – you must safeguard yourself from the door.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Darcy breathes, and dives under the table.  The door bursts inward in a crash of splinters, and despite herself she screams. 

“Right!  Remind me never to lock myself in the bathroom when Myew-myeuh is around, okay?”  She picks her way out from under the table, carefully avoiding the wreckage of the door as she gingerly steps toward Thor.  She can barely make out his profile, noble and proud, standing in the hallway as the strobe lights flash on and off, on and off.

“Lady Darcy, you must follow me.”

“Okay, but – really, dude, you have some explaining to do.  I mean, what, since when are you working with the feds?  And why did you let them grab me like that?”

The sounds of agents yelling are much closer now and she can hear glass breaking in the distance.  Thor pulls Darcy to his side protectively, an arm wrapped around her shoulder, and (despite herself) Darcy thoroughly enjoys the moment.

_Mmm.  Muscles.  Sorry, Jane._

“Forgive me, Darcy, but there is no time to explain.”  Thor’s voice is always a little bit on the loud side, but now over the fire alarm it’s almost deafening.  “You must follow me; it is for your own safety.”

“Where have I heard that before,” she mutters, but tails him all the same.  They stumble down the narrow hallway, back towards the elevators, when suddenly there are a series of loud bangs and flashes from just up ahead and a thick billow of smoke starts drifting through the corridor.

“What the hell,” Darcy coughs, as the smog surrounds her, blurring her vision with stinging tears.  Clutching Thor’s cape for safety, she shields her nose and mouth with her arm and breathes through the cotton of her shirt.  “What is going _on_?”

Thor keeps moving forward, pulling them through the choking clouds.  “This madness is undoubtedly the work of my brother,” he says, his voice grim.  “I fear that Loki is – ” but whatever he is about to say is lost by a cacophony of voices in the distance, along with the unmistakable _bang bang bang_ of shots being fired.  A sizzling, sparking sound emanates from the light fixture above their heads, accompanied by a shimmer of brilliant green sparks and a new wave of smoke pouring out from above.

Together, they blindly feel their way through the darkness, until Thor finds a door handle and wrenches it open.  A blast of cool air momentarily dispels the smoke and she can see his serious countenance silhouetted by the strobe lights.  He pushes her through the doorway and attempts to divest himself from her clutches.  “Darcy, you must stay here.  I will return for you when it is safe.”

“What?  NO!” Darcy yells, clinging to his side.  “I don’t trust those guys – I’m sticking with you!”

He looks back into the hallway, his profile backlit by another shower of sparks.  “You must stay here.  I cannot protect you while Loki is causing this mayhem.  You have my word, Darcy, I will let no harm come to you.”

“That’s what he said!” She yells as another round of shots ring out.  Thor looks at her for a moment, nonplussed, but she can’t tell if he understands her.  He pushes her further into the room and takes off down the hallway, hammer at the ready.  Shaking her head in despair, Darcy pulls the door shut behind her and looks around at what appears to be a men’s room, the shiny white sinks and urinals intermittently illuminated by the flashing of the strobes.  The fire alarm is still blaring, muffling the shouts and bangs that reverberate from the hallway, even though this room is blessedly clear of smoke.

_Brilliant.  I’ll be safe as long as nobody needs to take a leak in the middle of a gunfight._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Having remembered the details of her Girl Scout fire-safety training, Darcy stuffs the doorjamb with wet paper towels as a smoke barrier and hunkers down on the tile floor, hiding beneath the sinks and waiting none too patiently for Thor’s return.  She nervously rolls the syringe from one hand to another, wondering just what SHIELD was prepared to do to her in order to obtain information about Loki and why – for God’s sake – she didn’t just give them what they were asking for.

_Maybe they just had to ask nicely._

Biting her lip, she shrugs – it’s not like she _wanted_ to find herself in this situation, okay, it’s just that ever since Oklahoma she’s been caught up in things that are way out of her control.  And maybe the little knowledge that she has about Loki – and of his plan, or lack thereof – is the only thing that _is_ under her control … for the time being, anyway. 

 _Because,_ she resolves, _the minute that Thor comes back, I’m going to tell him everything – with or without SHIELD agents present._

 _But preferably without_.

Because she knows these guys, now, or knows of them, has finally put two and two together and remembers just where she’s met them before.  Back in New Mexico, and she recalls just how awful they were when Thor first fell from the sky.  How they kidnapped him and locked him up, how they cleared out Jane’s lab, just took years and years – a whole lifetime’s worth – of Jane’s work, with completely straight faces and completely blank expressions and not even a “sorry, ma’am” in recompense.  Just took it like they owned it, and Darcy’s iPod too, and damned if Darcy doesn’t suddenly understand what David the room-service waiter was talking about.

_The shadow government._

Darcy shudders, and suddenly feels even _less_ safe, because if Thor is working for these guys, now, well, where does that leave her?

She eyes the toilet warily, pointing with one shaking finger.  “Don’t you _even_.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After a while, the sirens finally switch off, although the strobe lights remain blinking.  Darcy reaches up from her hideout and flicks the light switch; still nothing.  Sighing, she decides to crack the bathroom door a little bit, to see if Thor is on his way back for her.

The hallway is silent, except for the buzzing of electricity through burst light fixtures and the distant pop and crackle of sparks.  The smoke is still lingering outside her bathroom, not nearly as dense as it had been earlier, now just a hazy miasma of swirling grey.  She can see faint light filtering from the end of the hallway, pale and transparent and she guesses that there must be a window that way.

Closing the door once again, she weighs her options. 

One, she could wait here for Thor – or Agent Pierce.  Which would be worse?  Thor wanted her to stay here, where it was ‘safe’, but now that she knows he’s working in cahoots with SHIELD … the very same agency willing to drug her into compliance, into to talking about her association with his brother? Suddenly that option is looking less and less appealing.

Or two, she could take her chances and look for an exit.  Not the elevator, because that definitely won’t be operational, but there must be stairs around somewhere. 

_Or maybe I can find a phone.  Call dad, call mom, call the newspapers._

Decision made, she cracks the door again.  Waits for silent minutes, listening for the sound of footfalls in the distance, for agents or Thor or even the shrill tone of the fire alarm once again.  She hears only the sound of her own thudding heart, and despite her nerves she decides to make a break for it.

Ducking through narrow, twisting hallways, she backtracks her way to the center of the building, to her estimation of where the elevator might be.  Not that she plans to take it, but she knows that stairwells are usually located nearby.  After a few wrong turns, she winds up in the elevator lobby – and sure enough, just to the right, there’s a door with a plaque reading ‘Stairs’.

Checking back and forth over her shoulder, she makes sure that there’s nobody behind her as she cracks open the door.  The coast clear, she slips into the stairwell and swings the door shut behind her with a muffled click.  The stairwell is illuminated with emergency lights, dim but just strong enough for her to see the large ‘4’ painted on the wall.  Stairs lead both up and down; other than that she has no bearings – this could be a 5-floor building or it could be a skyscraper, she has no clue.  Despite the temptation to go up and investigate the other floors in search of a working phone, she feels that beating a hasty retreat is in her best interest right now.  Moving to the right, she begins to pad down the stairs, only to suddenly pick up on voices and heavy footsteps from below. 

 _Agents_ , her internal voice nervously supplies, and she’s frozen in place. 

Darcy scoots back to the door marked 4.  She hesitates – it’s a given that she can’t go back that way as that is _exactly_ where they’ll be looking for her.  It’s just as obvious that she can’t go down.  The voices from below are fully audible now, she can hear the shouts of ‘All clear!’ as the agents move up each floor and closer to her position.  Stuck between the frying pan and the fire, Darcy makes the only choice that she can: to go up.

Thanking her lucky stars that she donned her fuzzy slipper-socks with rubber traction soles this morning, she silently sprints up the stairs as quickly as she can, ignoring the twinges in her knee.  She passes floor 5, then floor 6, only stopping when the stairs end and she reaches a small cage-enclosed ladder going right up to the ceiling.  The plaque mounted on the wall reads “Roof Access - Restricted”.

 _Oh shit oh shit oh shit_ , her internal voice repeats.  _What now?_

Having lost Thor – and with agents on her tail – she makes the only possible choice.  Shakily, she begins to climb, and within precious seconds reaches the door at the top.  For once luck is with her – or something like it, anyway – and the trapdoor isn’t locked.  She wrenches it open and hoists herself out onto the roof.  Sprawling in the gravel, Darcy screams and covers her head as a hail of bullets bounce nearby, sending bits of stone flying everywhere, and looks up to see a black-suited SHIELD agent, ten yards away, in firing stance with his gun trained firmly upon her. 

“Freeze!” he yells, as if Darcy could do anything else, and begins walking towards her, never lowering his gun.  Bile rises in the back of her throat, tears spring to her eyes, and it’s all she can do not to wet herself in fear – that is, at least until Loki suddenly appears right behind the agent, a maniacal grin on his face and his scepter in his hand. 

“No,” she croaks out, as a green flash appears from Loki’s hand.  He blasts the agent, the man flying backwards, unconscious, and moves towards her, eyes blazing a brilliant blue and his arm outstretched.  “No,” she yells, louder now, as another SHIELD agent moves into position behind Loki, gun blazing, riddling his green-cloaked frame with bullets.  “No!” she screams, pulling herself up onto all fours, as Loki grimaces and then disappears completely, leaving her and the second agent – BadaBing himself – staring at each other in wide-mouthed surprise.

“Miss Lewis, put your hands above your head,” he starts, as Darcy looks around frantically.  The trapdoor behind her opens up and more jumpsuited agents begin to crawl out of the opening, guns leading the way and tendrils of smoke wafting on the open breeze behind them.

“Miss Lewis?”  Agent BadaBing repeats, and Darcy freezes, panicked. 

Thor is nowhere to be found and she can feel the syringe, cold and hard, pressed between her sleeve and her arm.  Looking at the unconscious form of the downed agent, resigned to her fate, Darcy wobbily props herself up and places her arms upon her head.  Agent BadaBing barks “stand down” at the group, and, his eyes momentarily upon them, stance relaxed, he doesn’t notice the multiple Lokis flashing into existence, one by one, around the perimeter of the roof.

Chaos erupts then, a cacophony of shouts and gunfire and blue flares blasting as the SHIELD group squares off with the alien clones.  Darcy doesn’t know where to look, what to do, watching as the agents drop one by one and the Loki figures disappear and reappear almost at will. 

“Come,” Thor’s voice rumbles from behind her.  “Quickly, while there is time.”  He pulls Darcy to his side and, hammer swirling, launches them into the air and away from the battle.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

They make it away from the building and to the parking lot, Thor placing her gently on the ground as they alight. He then steers her towards the row of black SUVs parked like a barricade against the empty spaces.  There’s still quite a ruckus going on up on the roof, and with all of the SHIELD attention focused six stories up it appears that two of them are home free.

Darcy whirls on him, then, smacking her fist against the broad plane of his chest.  “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”  She yells.  “Why you thought it was a good idea to bring those guys to my _house_?”

Thor smiles down at her, all sunny good nature, looking at her hand upon him, and laughs. 

“I am pleased to see that captivity has not diminished your spirit one bit.”

“What?” 

“Lady Darcy!”  She turns to the sound of Thor’s panicked voice ringing down from above.  He stands at the edge of the rooftop, an expression of dread on his face and Mjolnir in his hand. SHIELD agents surround him on either side, guns trained at her and ready to fire.  “Step away!  I cannot protect – ” 

She whips around and sure enough, it’s Loki with his hand around her wrist.  She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream, so she just gapes at him like a particularly dimwitted fish.

“How tiresome,” Loki intones drolly.  “I do believe that it would be best were we to finish this jailbreak, so if you would be so kind …” He gives her a gentle push, urging her to move forward.

The agents open fire and bullets ring around them, ricocheting harmlessly from his armor as they sprint across the pavement to the vehicles.  Darcy screams and hunches over, trying to run as fast as she can while at the same time making herself as small a target as possible.  The locks pop on the Suburban closest to the curb and Loki makes no comment as he moves around to the passenger side.

“What the hell!  I can’t hotwire a federal vehicle!”  She yells as she dodges the whizzing bullets, ducking behind a lamppost as they zing past her head.  The doors to the vehicle swing open with a green flash and a bang, and before she can argue she clambers into the driver’s seat and pulls the door closed behind her.  The engine roars to life, and out of reflex she yanks the gearshift into reverse and pulls out of the spot.  “Oh shit oh shit oh shit!”  She screams as a bullet shatters the rear driver-side window.  “Loki!  Do something!”

“I. Am. Trying,” he grits out, as he lowers the passenger-side window, the scepter pointing towards the source of the gunfire.  The tip glows blue and then a huge pulse of energy surges forward, blasting the figures on the roof out of sight, sending a shower of shattering glass to the pavement below.

“There,” he sighs with satisfaction, and slumps, exhausted, in the passenger seat.  “Now – drive.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels coming up. I promise.


	8. The Escape

Heart pounding and nerves jangling, Darcy steers the huge vehicle on complete auto-pilot, barely registering that she and Loki are indeed leaving a deserted office park – one that she vaguely recognizes as being two towns over from the city where her parents live. 

_Does SHIELD own this whole complex or did they just appropriate it for a little bit of interrogation and torture?_

She glances at Loki, sprawled out in the passenger seat, his face pale and eyes shadowed.

“Where – ” she begins, her throat dry and voice hoarse from screaming.  Swallowing, she tries again.  “Where should I go?”

One of his eyes opens just a sliver.  “Find a safe place.  I require rest in order to restore myself.”

_A safe place?_

Darcy laughs bitterly.  “There’s no place safe in _this_ ride, dude.  I don’t know if you understand what just happened, but we’ve been classified as terrorists _and_ managed to boost a SHIELD truck while making our escape.  Every law enforcement officer within a hundred-mile radius is going to be looking for this SUV.  They’ll be prepared to take us in by any means necessary.”  She looks at him in disbelief.  “The least you can do is take the helmet off, okay?  It’s totally conspicuous – and besides, your horns are shredding the headliner.” 

He pulls the helmet from his head and gently places it on the floor, cradled between his feet, before returning to his repose.  Shaking her head in exasperation at his overprotective gesture toward the headgear, Darcy adjusts the driver’s seat forward by a few inches so that she can better reach the gas pedal. 

“Safe place,” she mutters, more to herself than Loki.  “Safe place.  There’s no safe place left for the two of us, that’s for sure.”  She turns onto a main road and immediately regrets it as the midday traffic pulses and clots around them.  “Damn.  What are all of these people doing out here?  Don’t they have to be at work or something?”  Scanning the area, she tries to remember exactly where they are in relation to her parents’ house.  “Safe place.  Safe place.  Safe.”

_Where is the safest place to be when the cops are looking for you?_

_In an unsafe place, of course._

“That’s it!” She yelps.  “Come on, we’re headed to the sketchy part of town.  They won’t be expecting it.”

“Thrilled to hear it,” Loki mumbles drily.   Darcy looks over at him, concerned.  He looks even paler than usual – if that’s even possible – and shaky. 

“Hey, you still with me?”

“For now,” is his quiet reply. 

 _Shit_. 

“Are you hurt?  Did they – were you shot?  I saw you get shot, didn’t I.  Oh god, you’ve been shot.”  She glances over at his slumping form as often as the traffic allows – it wouldn’t be in their best interests to get into a fender-bender _now_.  “I don’t know alien first aid.  What can I do?  Tell me what to do.”

“Fear not.  Your Midgardian aggressors failed to significantly wound me.  It is but a scratch, compounded by the fact that I have depleted my reserves of magic.  A temporary setback.” 

“Are you bleeding?”

“No, no longer.” 

“Oh, crap – is your blood, like, going to poison me?”  She briefly considers rolling down the windows but realizes that it’s too late for her if his blood is, indeed, bright green and corrosively toxic to humans.

Loki is quiet, for a time, and Darcy wonders if he’s fallen asleep.  She sighs heavily and returns her focus to the drive.

_Okay.  Assuming that I’m not hauling around a nearly deceased alien, my best bet is to set course for the wrong side of the tracks – pronto._

_I can do this.  I can do this._

_I have to do this, I’m not going back to Agent Pierce and his creepy sick threats and his truth serum –_

_Oh._

She suddenly feels the syringe, cold and hard and tucked securely against her forearm by her sleeve.  She wonders if she should wake Loki to tell him about her new acquisition but quickly decides against it. 

_Focus.  Focus.  I’ve got to get us out of here first. Then I’ll tell him about the truth serum._

_Maybe._

A horn blasts her out of her reverie and with a start she realizes that the light has turned green.  _Shit, no more drifting off.  I’ve got to stay on track – otherwise we’ll end up at Guantanamo … or worse._ 

She makes the turn and aims for the Baltimore city limits; an easy place to get lost if you don’t want to be found.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

An hour later, Darcy pulls the SUV to a stop next to a row of dumpsters in an alley behind a seedy no-name strip mall on the outskirts of town.  She’s exhausted and her nerves are shot now that the adrenaline from the fight and flight has worn off.  After the drive – and the waves of panic that have crashed through her at the sight of every police car and sound of sirens in the distance – she’s not even sure that she _has_ any adrenaline left in her body.

“Loki,” she calls.  He’s out like a light, seat reclined and his head cradled against the headrest facing her. She looks at his profile for long moments, considering her options.

_I could run.  Leave him here, go off the grid for real, just disappear._

Somehow, she knows, she can’t do that.  She can’t escape from SHIELD, not without him, even if she wanted to.  And deep down, she’s not so sure that she _does_ want to.  They’re connected, now, her future inextricably linked to his and his quest to rule the world, no matter how crazy – or cruel – it seems.

“Loki,” she tries again, her voice a little louder now, although she’s still loathe to wake him.  Partly because he needs the rest and partly because she can’t help it, can’t stop staring at him now that she finally has the chance.  Even in shadow, he’s beautiful, the lush sweep of his eyelashes in sharp contrast to the angles and planes of his strong cheekbones and proud forehead.  He seems softer in sleep, strangely trusting and unguarded in her presence, a new development in their – _Our what? Strategic partnership?_

She suppresses a snort of laughter at that.

_No.  Better not to think about it too much.   That way lies madness, blah blah whatevercakes._

As she regards his unconscious form, Darcy wonders how he came to this, how someone so clearly blessed wound up in such a desperate situation. 

_Who is he?  Why did he come here?  Why us, why Earth, why now?_

_Why me?_

Completely resisting the temptation to trace his profile with her fingertips – _because, really, that would make me a total creeper_ – she instead nudges his shoulder, just a little bit, while calling his name again.

“Loki, wake _up_.”  When he doesn’t respond, she grips his shoulder a little more firmly and shakes.  “Come _on_ , we’ve got to get out of here.  I’ll bet you ten bucks that there’s some super-SHIELD version of LoJack installed in this thing – we don’t have much time before they find us.”

He comes to, drowsily, and his eyes swim in and out of focus.  “Where are we,” he mumbles, and he seems so adorably out of it that she’d pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so acutely aware of their dangerous circumstances. 

_And, you know, because he’d rip my arm off and beat me with the wet end._

“Hiding out, but we’re not home free yet.  You need to wake _up_ ,” she urges him.  “We have to ditch this SUV.”

He seems confused.  “I do not understand.  Is this vehicle somehow inadequate?”

Darcy sighs and refrains from giving him another – harder – shake.  “No, no it’s not, but it’s much too conspicuous to keep driving around, especially in this neighborhood.  They’ll track us down soon enough if we stay here.  We have to find another way.  Can you teleport us somewhere else?”

He stares at her for long moments, apparently processing her words. 

“No,” Loki shakes his head groggily.  “I fear that my powers are still far too depleted to guarantee safe passage, especially for two.  We must travel by mortal means.”

Darcy ponders this new turn of events.  _Well.  Crap. Seeing as I’m now an expert at grand theft auto, why not score the hat trick?_

“Okay, but come _on_.  I’m not kidding about dumping this rig.  We have to scramble before the men in black come swooping back in to haul us back to their torture chambers.  I’m actually surprised that they’re not here yet.”

The mere mention of torture has his attention, encouraging him to sit up and examine their surroundings.  His lips twist in disdain as he surveys the littered, overgrown alley.  “This hardly seems like a place of refuge.”

Darcy groans in frustration.  “Seriously?  You’re going to complain _now_?”  She whips her seatbelt off and opens the driver-side door.  “I’ve managed to accomplish Step 1:  getting us away from the dragnet and to relative safety.  No, no – ”  she holds her hand up to his face as she hops out of the Suburban.  “No thanks necessary, it’s all part of my job.”

Loki manages to raise a supercilious eyebrow as he, too, exits the vehicle.  “I’ll remember that the next time I save your life.”

_Oh no.  He did not just go there._

“Stuff it,” she snaps.  “We can figure out just who should be thanking who later.  Right now, we have to focus on getting out of here.”

“Hmm,” he replies, seeming marginally more alert. “Perhaps you are correct.  You have a plan, I presume?”

_A plan.  Yeah, right._

“Winging it,” Darcy admits.  “We have to switch cars – and I’m going to need whatever mojo you’ve managed to charge up in the past hour in order to do it.  Can you handle that?”

“Parlor tricks,” he scoffs, but she can see that he is still off-balance and unsure on his feet.

“Do you need help?  I mean, I can’t carry you, but maybe you could lean on me?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself, dude.”  She scans the area.  “I’m hoping that we can get out of here without attracting attention.  It’s going to be tough, though – this isn’t exactly my kind of neighborhood, and it sure as hell isn’t yours.”  She eyes him critically, taking in his armor and the helmet cradled in his arms.  “Can you like, change or something?  No suits, though.  That’ll get us mugged for sure.”

Loki just presses his lips together and scowls.  Darcy sees a faint ripple pass over his body, and she’s not sure if it’s just a trick of the light or maybe her own fatigue finally settling in until he speaks.

“You see me, but others cannot.”  He gestures for her to lead the way.  “We must make haste.  I do not know how long I can maintain this illusion in my current state.”

“Awesome,” she replies, gingerly picking her way through the weeds and trash.  “That you’re invisible, I mean, not that you’re about to pass out on me again.”  Surveying the back of the buildings, she spots a narrow walkway just up ahead and heads in that direction. 

They quickly begin placing distance between themselves and the SUV.  The walkway leads around the corner, where the concrete is covered with broken glass and reeks of urine. 

Darcy shudders.  “What I wouldn’t give for a pair of shoes right about now.  I’m gonna wind up with tetanus or _worse_ , I just know it.”

“Tread lightly,” Loki suggests. 

“Yeah, thanks,” she snorts.  “I’ve done so well taking your advice this far.”

Whatever reply he was about to make dies on his lips as a car approaches.  Instinctively, Darcy ducks behind him, only to remember that he’ll provide very little cover if he is indeed invisible. 

“Come _on_.  We have to keep moving,” she exhales as the car drives by, the driver inside apparently oblivious to their presence.  “I’m going to have a heart attack if this keeps up.  And you can just save the snide remarks about weak mortals.”

Whatever retort Loki is about to make dies on his lips as Darcy stalks ahead.  They round the next corner of the building and stop short at the sight of the strip mall.  It’s fairly busy, with patrons walking in and out of stores and rows of cars stretching out in the parking lot.  Loki sucks in a breath, reaching out as if to pull Darcy back into the shadows of the building, but she squares her shoulders and resolutely moves ahead.

“Oh, this is good.”  Darcy murmurs as she begins moving purposefully towards the farthest edge of the shopping center.  “Believe it or not, it’s better like this – I’d be far more conspicuous in an empty lot.  This way, I’m just going to blend into the crowd.”

“You have remarkable criminal instincts, Darcy Lewis,” Loki remarks.  “One would almost think that you’d been born to the life.”

“Shut up,” she replies under her breath.  They pass a Laundromat, a beauty-supply store, and a dollar store on their way to the parking lot.  “We’re totally in luck – there aren’t likely to be surveillance cameras around here.  That might give us few extra minutes of leeway once they find the SUV.”

For once, Loki doesn’t respond, just follows Darcy as she alternately speeds up and slows down, at times moving quickly and at other times pretending to window-shop.  Her attempt to avoid the other patrons while at the same time not drawing attention to herself appears to work, as they quickly pass several knots of people without incident and make it to the far end of the parking lot. Darcy wastes no time in sizing up the available vehicles.  Hovering just out of view of both the shops and the road, she gestures towards a battered, sand-colored minivan.

“This one,” she announces.  “Can you unlock it?”

Loki concentrates for a moment, his brows knit together, and then smiles unexpectedly.  “I retract my earlier comment.”

Icy panic slides down Darcy’s spine.  “What?  You don’t have any magic left?”

He shakes his head.  “No, my – apparently false – observation that you were born to the criminal life.”

“Is there a _point_ to this?”  She hisses, glancing around nervously, praying that she is still unnoticed.

“Of course, my dear Miss Lewis.”  With a wink, he opens the rear door and slides into the back of the minivan.  “A proper thief would have checked the door first.  The van is unlocked.”

She grits her teeth and yanks open the driver’s side door.  _That’s it,_ she thinks, not for the first time.  _I am going to kill him._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Darcy cuts a meandering course through the neighborhood, sticking to side roads wherever possible, in her quest to find somewhere ‘safe’ to hide.  She hasn’t seen any law enforcement vehicles in quite some time, allowing her to relax (albeit infinestimally).  The minivan – despite being old, dirty, and smelling vaguely of burnt motor oil – at least runs smoothly, although she’s not all that comfortable with the whining noise coming from the power steering whenever she turns left. 

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she can see Loki stretched across the back seats, relaxed in sleep with one arm flung over his eyes.  His breathing appears to be steady although he hasn’t made any other noises in quite some time.  Darcy can’t tell if his invisibility spell is holding, but the bubbling, peeling tint on the van’s rear windows at least offers some protection from prying eyes.  His color is still terrible, and she chews on her lips nervously wondering what she can possibly do to help.

_Not that I’m in much better shape, actually …_

And it’s true.  She’s exhausted, thirsty, and her painkillers wore off somewhere about the time that ‘Thor’ launched them off the roof and into a hail of gunfire.  She could use a nap, a Vicodin, and a Gatorade – not necessarily in that order.  Flicking her eyes up to the mirror again, she begins to seriously worry about Loki’s condition.

_I wonder when he’s last had anything to eat or drink?_

She knows that he _does_ eat – her pilfered chocolate soufflé is evidence of that – but the other details of his alien physiology are a mystery to her.  Still, if the way that she feels is anything to go by, his sunken eyes and parched lips are probably signs of dehydration.

Pulling over to a curb, she shifts the van into park and begins rummaging through the center console.  Not exactly sure what she’s expecting – certainly not wads of cash – she’s hoping that there might be something that she can trade for water.

_Cell phones, CD’s, anything …_

But of course there’s nothing to be found.  Papers, junk, a few sticky starlight mints – one of which she unwraps and pops into her mouth – but nothing of value.  She opens the glove compartment and it’s more of the same, just papers and the usual flotsam and jetsam of life.

In desperation, she scrounges under the seat, feels in the pockets of the side door, opens the ashtray –

_Oh!_

There’s a collection of change in the ashtray, mostly pennies and nickels.  One quarter.  All told, just over sixty cents, not enough for much of anything – not even a pack of gum.

_Well, crap._

Sighing, she slumps back in the driver’s seat, defeated. 

 _So much for the criminal life,_ she chuckles silently to herself.  _I might have a rap sheet a mile long, but I’m not about to turn to shoplifting …_

Looking at the coins in her hand, Darcy counts them out once again.  _Still not enough.  Stupid pennies._ She rubs the quarter with her thumb, wishing that she had a handful of these …

_Parlor tricks!_

With a grin, she turns towards the back seat.

“Hey,” she says in a low voice, jiggling Loki’s knee.  He instantly jerks awake, scanning their surroundings for danger, then glares at Darcy when he finds none.  “It’s okay, relax, I’m sorry to have woken you – I just need some minor magic.”

Loki raises an incredulous eyebrow and she raises one hand in the universal gesture of surrender.  “No, really, it’s not much.  I swear.  It’s just … can you turn these – ” she points at the coins in the ashtray – “into these?”  The quarter rests in her other palm.

He sits up with an aggrieved sigh, takes the quarter from her outstretched hand, and sets his jaw in concentration.  A faint green glow emanates from his hand with the quarter, then flows to surround the other coins.  It glows stronger for a minute then disappears.  Darcy leans forward, curious, and scoops the now-quarters from the ashtray with a whoop of delight.

“Sweet!  You’re pretty handy to have around, you know that?”

Another glare, then he leans back and closes his eyes again. 

“Fine.  Be that way.  But don’t say that I never said anything nice about you.”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After another half hour of cruising through the neighborhood, Darcy spots a small one-pump gas station with an attached convenience store set back from a side road.  The building is small and dingy enough that she thinks there may not be cameras around, or at least not any that are attached to a surveillance network.  Figuring that both she and Loki are slipping further and further into dehydration with every minute that passes – and therefore weaker and closer to total disorientation – she decides that it’s worth the risk to duck inside.  She pulls the van into the farthest parking spot from the door, gathers her counterfeit quarters – all eleven dollars’ worth – and looks back at Loki.   He’s still asleep.

_Right.  Okay.  I can do this – it’s just a quick stop, right?  Nothing to be worried about.  Nothing at all._

Still, if she scans the parking lot for cops or SHIELD agents a few more times, she can almost talk herself into believing it.  And there aren’t any to be found, just a few kids leaning against their bikes by the glass door, drinking Mountain Dew and goofing off.

_Okay._

She quietly slips out of the van, not wanting to wake Loki.  Aiming for an air of nonchalance, she walks up to the door and pulls it open.  Just as she steps inside, she hears laughter from the group behind her.

“Hey lady,” one of the kids jeers.  “No shirt, no shoes, no service!”  He’s pointing to her sock feet and laughing, his friends snickering behind their hands.  Darcy debates whether to laugh along with the little jerk or flip him off, but in the interest of trying to stay under the radar she does neither.  Instead, she winks, puts her finger to her lips and mimes saying ‘shhh’.  The kids keep laughing behind her as she enters the store.

She quickly gathers up several bottles of water, some chocolate and a few rumpled granola bars of uncertain vintage and heads for the counter.  An older Middle-Eastern man looks impassively at her from behind the two-inch-thick panel of plexiglass as she piles her items in front of him. 

_Let’s just add passing counterfeit to my criminal record, shall we?_

She spots a box of fruit on the counter behind him as he rings her purchases into the register.

“Excuse me, how much are the bananas?”

He looks behind himself then turns back to the register.

“Bananas, two for one dollar.  Apples, one dollar.  Tangerines, one dollar.”

She counts out her quarters again (checking to make sure that they’re still quarters) and decides.  “Can I have two bananas and two tangerines, please?”

He nods.  “Nine dollars and eighty-seven cents.”  She slides ten dollars’ worth of quarters through the slot and he passes her back her change.  Bagging up some fruit, he opens the side door of his cage and hands her the bag.  “I give you extra.  You take care of yourself.”  He gestures to his neck and Darcy realizes that the bruising along her jaw and neck are visible for all to see.

_Crap … way to stay inconspicuous, Darcy.  Good going._

She blushes nervously and shakes her head. “Thanks … but you didn’t have to do that.  I’m fine.”  She feels like shit now, except ten times worse, because she doesn’t know how long the quarters are going to stay quarters.   _Hopefully at least until I get out of here._   Smiling at the man, Darcy gathers up her bags and heads for the door.  Outside, the kids are still joking around and the coast appears to be clear, so she scoots out of the building as fast as she reasonably can and makes for the van.  Just as she’s sliding into the driver’s seat, she sees a police car out of the corner of her eye.  The car slows down in front of the convenience store and the window slides down.  Darcy freezes, her heart pounding in her chest, as the policeman leans out of his car and waves his arm at the kids.  They pull up on their bikes and scatter, some of them heading around the van and others passing in front of the police car, all of them yelling epithets at the cop.  He shakes his head in disgust and looks around the parking lot, his eyes sliding over the van and past it to the gas pump.  Apparently not noticing Darcy, he backs his cruiser out and pulls away.  She lets out a long, shaky breath and looks in the rear-view.  Loki is once again asleep but some color has started to return to his face.  Shaken, she rests her head against the steering wheel for a few long moments and then looks around.

_I’ve got to find a place to hide.  We can’t keep moving forever._

She pulls out of the parking lot and begins to drive slowly in the opposite direction of the police car.  She begins another long circuitous route through the back streets, only this time she’s paying attention to every alley and parking lot that she sees.  Finally, she spots a narrow driveway in between an auto-body repair place and a used car lot.  Both businesses appear to be closed for the day, and the passage between the buildings harbors several vehicles in similar condition as their minivan.  There’s a gap parallel to the wall of the auto-body repair shop, and after scanning the area for witnesses Darcy carefully backs the van into the driveway. 

A few fitful maneuvers later and the van is nearly invisible from the road, blocked from view by the other cars but with enough space free to allow her to keep an eye on the passing traffic.  She uncaps a bottle of water and drinks deeply, sighing in relief as she feels the hydration flowing through her body.  After a little while, she rummages around in the bag for a granola bar, hoping that the simple act of eating will keep her alert until Loki wakes up.   As she nibbles, she allows herself to relax incrementally, keeping a watchful eye over both her alien companion and their surroundings. 

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

It’s nearly dark when she wakes up, blinking slowly into the gloomy dusk of the shadowed alley.  Darcy is disoriented at first, feeling only pain and discomfort as feeling returns to her back and legs, stiffened by injury and cramped from being curled up in the driver’s seat for hours.  Reality slowly reasserts itself and both worry and adrenaline surge through her, causing her to twist her neck uncomfortably as she turns to look for Loki.  Only he’s not in the back any longer, he’s now sitting in the passenger seat, gazing at her with the same intense expression that she must have worn while looking at him hours ago.

“Uh, sorry,” she croaks, her voice scratchy from hours of disuse.  “I guess that I totally fail as a lookout.”

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice hushed and uncharacteristically gentle.  “However, I daresay that your remarkable skills of evasion and survival outweigh your drawbacks as a sentry.”  He looks out of the windows, gesturing to their inconspicuous hiding place.  “You’ve done well, Darcy Lewis.  Most others of your kind would not have been so levelheaded – or resourceful – under similar circumstances.”

She snorts.  “I’m calling bullshit on that one.  It doesn’t take anyone special to run and hide.”  Looking him over, she realizes that he appears to have recuperated somewhat from his earlier state of ill health.  “You’re looking better,” she points out.  “Are you – well, I mean, you said you got shot, so you can’t be, but are you?  Better, that is?”

He chuckles.  “Yes, thanks to your offering, I am much recovered.”

“Offering?”  _What, like I’m leaving blood sacrifices at his altar?_   “Wow, that’s some superiority complex you’ve got going on there.  I mean, just who do you think you – ”

Loki smiles down at her, holding out his hand for her perusal.  Fragrant curls of tangerine peel rest in his open palm, entwined with his long fingers.  “Once upon a time, your ancestors left the best fruits of their harvests as offerings to their gods, did they not?  I can only assume that you obtained these for me in the same spirit.”

Darcy suppresses the urge to snort again, if only because she doesn’t want to be mistaken for a particularly dim-witted pig.  “Yeah, right,” she retorts, the sarcasm hanging heavily in the cramped quarters of the minivan.  “I totally scored some convenience-store fruit – using counterfeit quarters, no less – just to keep on your good side, your Excellency.”  She shakes her head and reaches for her bottle of water.  “Seriously, I bought the drinks and snacks because _I_ was hungry and thirsty.  I bought enough for you only because I was concerned that I’d be hauling around a dead alien carcass otherwise.”  She takes a big sip of her lukewarm water and exhales deeply, her temporary spark of irritation dissipating as quickly as it had arrived.  “I was worried, not reverent.  There’s a difference, you know.”

“You?  Were worried for _me_?”

“I know, right?”  Darcy rolls her eyes.  “And here I’m the one who was kidnapped, beaten up, kidnapped again, threatened with truth serum, and then shot at.  I must be either detached from reality or completely delusional.  Either way, I still didn’t want you to expire on my watch.  So yeah, I was worried.”

Silence stretches out in the van until Darcy, of course, is compelled to speak up again.  “So how does that work, anyway?  You get shot a few hours ago and after a nap you’re fine?”

Loki’s lips quirk into a fleeting smile.  “As I mentioned earlier, it was but a nuisance.  I’ve sustained injuries far worse and fared better.”

Darcy grimaces and flexes her sore knee.  “Some guys have all the luck.”  At Loki’s expression, she points to her neck and frowns.  “I sure could use some of that accelerated healing alien monkey business.  These bruises are gonna be around for a while.  Although they did score some ill-gotten gains.”  She smirks into the darkness.  “That offering you’re so fond of?  Was for me, actually.  Some other ‘foolish mortal’ made the assumption that I’m an abused housewife and decided that I needed a little TLC.”  She frowns as a thought crosses her mind.  “Doesn’t seem fair that you get to reap the bonuses of my encounter with your foot soldier, though, does it?”

He scowls into the darkness.  “I told you not to leave – ”

“Oh HELL no,” Darcy bristles.  “No way are you blaming this – _any_ of it – on me.  _I’m_ not the one who abandoned me in a subterranean lair with a screechy out-of-control Jane and a glowy blue Jell-o shot of mindfuckery.  _I’m_ not the one who brought monsters onto the planet and thought that leaving them wandering off-leash was a good idea.  _I’m_ not the one who antagonized the shadow government and left a college intern behind as bait for their shenanigans.  None of what has happened was in my plans for this weekend, so you don’t get to lecture me about ‘I told you so’.”

“You think that I planned this?”  Loki hisses, his eyes narrowing.  “Had I wanted you to be under the Tesseract’s control, you would be.  Had I wanted you to be dead, you would be.  Had I wanted you to remain in SHIELD’s custody, You. Would. Still. Be. There.”  Every word of his last sentence is punctuated by his index finger stabbing the air between them.

“So, what, I’m supposed to _thank_ you?”  Darcy is incredulous.  “Well, golly gee, thanks for saving my life – _after_ you’ve completely ruined it, of course.  Unless you somehow think that coming after me in the first place was _my_ freaking idea.  Which it so wasn’t.”  She shakes her head and lets out a disgruntled sniff.  “I know that most men have selective memory, but you’re seriously trying to ret-con our entire situation.”  Thumping her fists against the steering wheel, she lets out a small scream of frustration.  “Gah!  _Our_ situation!  As if there is anything about this that is ‘ours’!  There’s only your situation, and my situation, and the chronic clusterfail of our respective situations while we’re near each other!” 

Drained by her sudden outburst, Darcy slumps back in her seat and presses her forehead against the cool glass of the window. An uncomfortable silence stretches out between them, long minutes in which she can only hear the muffled sound of her own breathing in the cramped confines of the van.  She’s acutely aware of his imposing form in the passenger seat, her senses prickling where his arm rests on the center console close to hers.  She wonders if he feels it too, if he’s just as affected by her presence as she is by his, or if she’s just part of the scenery to him.

_Maybe I’m one step up from a potted plant to him. Maybe._

With a heavy sigh, she caves and breaks the silence first.

“There’s no going back to the way things were before, is there.”  It’s less of a question than a statement on her part.

“No, I am afraid not.”  At least he has the decency to sound contrite.

“I – I don’t know what to do, at this point.  That dickhead SHIELD agent threatened my family.”  Darcy turns to face him then, her face shadowed by worry and doubt, her hands spread wide, pleading.  “He was going to torture me for information, and now that I’ve escaped he’ll probably turn up the pressure on my parents.”

Loki surveys the view out of his own window, his face turned away from Darcy.  His voice, when he speaks, is pensive.  “My intent, truly, has been to protect you.  I had hoped to avoid such complications by keeping you at arm’s length.” He redirects his gaze to his own hands, turning and flexing them as though answers are to be found within.  “Until now, I had thought that ignorance of my plans would protect you, but I can see that I have underestimated the determination of SHIELD to thwart them.  You are indeed in danger, Darcy, and for this you have my sincerest apology, but your words are true – it is far, far too late to turn back.  Our paths have been set, and without a doubt they are intertwined.”

Darcy swallows, takes a deep breath, and tries to steady her nerves.  “If that’s true, you can’t keep me in the dark any longer, you know.  I mean, they were going to give me this – ” and she produces the syringe of truth serum from her sleeve – “to get me to talk, and if that didn’t work, which it wouldn’t, because I really didn’t know anything, I’m not sure what they would have done next.”

Loki’s lips tighten into a grim line as he examines the syringe.  “Barbaric,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, and unconstitutional too, probably.”  He looks up at her blankly.  “Oh, yeah, right, you probably don’t know what a constitution is.  Thor once clued me in on the power structure in Asgard; if you’ve been living under a hereditary monarchy for millennia then I’m sure that the Bill of Rights would be a foreign concept.”  Looking at the syringe in her hand, she shrugs.  “I’m beginning to think that it’s a foreign concept to my government too.  Somehow ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ doesn’t really work for me, you know?”

He smiles ruefully.  “Ah, but I suspect that such machinations are universal, political structures aside.”

“Yeah, about that.  You’re not exactly innocent in that department, mister.  You say that you’re protecting me – which I still can’t wrap my head around, by the way – but then you’ve got Jane under lock and key?”

Loki’s smile twists into a frown.  “She and Selvig are currently assisting in my endeavors.”

“Which are?”  Darcy prods.  “Listen I’m not trying to be a pest, but if my life is essentially ruined because of your plan I’d really like to know what it is.  Not to mention that I care what happens to Jane – and Erik, of course, and then there’s my family, who I can’t do anything about while SHIELD is after us.  I can’t just sit here and wait for you to figure things out, I need to be involved.”

“Even when such involvement may put your very life in peril?”  He raises an eyebrow, impassive.

Once again, Darcy thumps the steering wheel in frustration.  “Are we going to keep arguing in this same circle for hours?  I thought we’d already established that my life is in danger anyway.  I can’t spend the rest of it just waiting for the end to come.  It doesn’t matter what fancy hotel you stash me in, or how good I am at disappearing into dark alleys, I have to _do_ something, don’t you see?”  She turns to him, her eyes pleading.  “Just – look, for once, can you be honest with me?  Can you answer my question?”

“Honesty.”  He puckers his lips as though the mere taste of the word is unpleasant.  “Such a naïve construct, really.  There are so many possible variations on the truth, how can one tell them apart?”

She stares at him incredulously.  “I just don’t even know with you.  Like, seriously, what the hell?  Who even _says_ something like that?”  His gaze darkens at her attitude but this time she refuses to budge.  Pulling up her chin in a show of defiance, she continues.  “Is it the real you who comes up with these gems?  Or is it the mind controlled-you?”  His eyes widen and she resists the urge to laugh.  “Yeah, I figured it out.”  She mimes patting herself on the back and smirks.  “It’s the glow cube, isn’t it?  What did you call it, the Teresact?”

“Tesseract,” Loki manages to say.

“Right, Tesseract,” she repeats.  “That thing was in the room with Jane, and she wasn’t acting like herself.  Or,” Darcy corrects herself, “maybe even _more_ like herself, with all of her filters and social behaviors turned off.  Jane as a sociopath?  Scary.”  She shudders.  “So did you poke her with the scepter or did the Tesseract grab her itself?  Because it didn’t turn me into a raving lunatic, although it was a pretty close call.”

“You touched – you touched the Tesseract?”

“Duh, no, I’m not _that_ stupid.”  She pokes him with her elbow and then suddenly realizes that – oops – maybe she really _is_ that stupid.  Luckily for her, he’s distracted by the conversation and doesn’t seem to notice her (unintentionally) intentional contact.  “Well, not in this case, anyway.  No, it sort of started transmitting its mind-control brainwaves or whatever and I was in receiver mode.  I don’t know what it was, but it was weird.”

Loki turns to stare at her intently.  “And what … what did you see, when you gazed into its depths?”

Darcy squirms uncomfortably under his scrutiny.  _No freaking way am I telling him everything_.  She feels her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment and thanks every deity that she can think of for the cover of darkness inside the van.  “Well, I guess … the future?  Or some wishful-thinking version of it anyway.  Just, you know, politics and stuff.”  She shrugs.  “Luckily, Jane knocked me on my ass before I turned into a total zombie.”

“Remarkable,” he responds.  “Most are unable to resist the lure of the Tesseract.  Its power …” He shakes his head.  “Among its many aspects is the ability to illustrate an idealized version of the future, one in which the viewer is the protagonist.  In exceptional cases it will reveal the means to the end … a blueprint, if you will, of the most elegant method necessary to obtain the desired outcome.  It illuminates the pathway to a higher purpose – ”

His soliloquy is interrupted by a harsh poke in the ribs.  “Dude, that’s kind of freaky.  Stop with the whole sermon, okay?  You sound like you’ve been drinking the Kool-aid.”  Darcy makes a big show of looking around the van, checking the back seats and the seat well around Loki’s knees.  “So what about the scepter?  You had it before, but I don’t see it now.  I know you didn’t drop it, so it must be here somewhere, right?  How exactly does it fit in?  Like, are you filled with ‘higher purpose’ when you’re waving it around?”

He clenches his jaw.  She just _knows_ that she’s pushing his buttons but by now she doesn’t really care.  “The scepter is in a safe place – for now.  I fear that it would be far too conspicuous to wield it in our current location … but were you to antagonize me much further, I would not hesitate to retrieve it.”

 _So much for the vow of protection_ , she smirks to herself.  _I see how it is_.  “You’d mind-control me just to shut my mouth?”

She can almost hear his teeth grind in the darkness.  “You twist my words, Darcy Lewis.”

“Welcome to my world, Your Most Excellent Alien Overlord.” 

“Loki.”

“What?”  Her voice is innocence personified.

“You may call me by my true name if it will put an end to such foolishness.”

“Whatever.  I’m starting to grow on you, admit it.”  Darcy grins and elbows him again, her earlier wariness overcome.  “Loki liiiiikes me, I’m his beeeeest frieeeeend …”

“Enough,” he commands, but there is no force behind the word.  He looks at her with an indescribable expression on his face, and Darcy feels a frisson of … _something_ … race through her. 

_Whoa, girl.  Dial this shit back ASAP – no crushing hard on crazy beautiful genocidal magical aliens.  Nope.  Not gonna happen.  Absofrickenlutely not._

“Hmm.  You may be right.”  Internally freaking out a little, she shifts and peers into the darkness, surveying the alley as best she can with her limited vision.  “Listen, as much as I hate to bust up our happy fun time, we’ve really got to figure out a plan B, don’t you think?  SHIELD is eventually going to figure out that we’ve stolen this van – that is, if they haven’t already – and we can’t hide out here forever.” 

“No, we cannot.”  Loki straightens up in his seat as well.  “I had planned to return you to your previous lodgings, but I now consider this plan to be ill-advised.  Our pursuers will most certainly be expecting to find you nearby.”  He taps his lip with an index finger, deep in thought.  “I have initiated the process of establishing an alternate base of operations.  Given the circumstances, it might be preferable to keep you there at my side; however, it is not yet fully secure and therefore unsuitable for immediate occupancy.”

“Base of operations?”  Darcy grins.  “What, like an actual James Bond supervillain base? Not just lurking around in abandoned subway tunnels?  Because a base sounds so much more awesome.”  She actually rubs her hands together in glee.  “Is it on a deserted island somewhere?”

“Not quite.”

“Well, no matter where it is, we’ve gotta get a shark tank.  And a big white fluffy cat.  Oh, and maybe some lasers.”

“A cat … ?”

“Alright, well maybe not at first.  But definitely the shark tank.  And snazzy little matching uniforms for your henchmen.  And awesome clothes for me, because the bad girls always get the best – oh.”  Darcy stops short.  “Yeah, um.  Well.  Never mind about that last part.  Because things never turn out so well for the bad girls.”

Loki shakes his head.  “I cannot fathom, for the life of me, what you are prattling on about.”

“That’s gonna work in my favor this time, I think.”  Darcy laughs a little nervously.  “It’s just a pop culture reference, nothing important.  Although,” and this time she’s the one to tap her chin, “If you’re serious about ruling this rock then we really should get you caught up on things, because pop culture is really about communication and communication is really about power.  So, lucky you have me, eh?”

“Indeed,” he says, and the tone of his voice and the emphasis that he puts on the second syllable just hit her in the gut, making her forget about her knee and her shoulder and her family and SHIELD and everything else except the way that she suddenly feels shivery all over.

_Oh._

_Oh._

_I am so fucked._

 

*             *             *             *             *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know.


	9. The Cell Phone

For the most part, Darcy is generally satisfied with her appearance. 

Oh, sure, there are always going to be the occasions where she’s envious of the ethereal and delicate beauty of Jane Foster or her sister’s casual athletic grace.  Those times don’t happen very often, however, as being all boobs, hips and lips generally works in her favor.

So it comes as quite a shock to look in the mirror and see a reflection that is – well, _not herself_.  Or not the self that she’s used to seeing, anyway.  Because she definitely still is _Darcy_ , standing in the plain beige bathroom of a nondescript guest room in a Hampton Inn just off some random exit of the New Jersey Turnpike.  Except that the face staring back at her from the mirror _isn’t_ Darcy, it’s the face of an anonymous woman of vaguely Asian descent.  The face of a woman who could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, the face of a woman just attractive enough – without being _too_ attractive – to escape anyone’s attention, especially nosy front-desk clerks who have probably been tipped off by SHIELD to keep an eye out for one Darcy Lewis.

No, the face in the mirror belongs to an unknown woman who arrived at this hotel in a neat, late-model charcoal gray Toyota Camry (a Camry that, until two hours ago, was a battered, dusty tan minivan).  A woman dressed in a tidy black business suit (a suit that, until two hours ago, was a rumpled long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants).  A woman who carried a small roller bag containing a toothbrush and a change of underwear (a bag that, until two hours ago, was a plastic grocery bag full of granola bar wrappers).  A woman who had in her possession a Delaware driver’s license and a MasterCard in the name of Lin Xu (both of which, until two hours ago, didn’t exist).

 _Sometimes_ , Darcy thinks, a mischievous smirk playing at the reflected corners of Lin Xu’s mouth, _it pays to be in cahoots with an alien sorcerer_.

Then she remembers exploding buildings in New York City and the vice grip of an alien claw around her neck and, with a shudder, realizes that it doesn’t pay at all.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Two hours ago in an alley on the outskirts of Baltimore, Darcy (still looking like Darcy) sat side by side with said alien sorcerer facing the uncomfortable reality that she might be harboring a bit of a (totally, completely, ill-advised) crush on one and the same.

_No.  Just – no.  This cannot be happening.  This is – it’s not cool, it’s not real, it’s not going to happen.  Come on, get it together, act normal.  Or, like, Darcy-normal._

She’d taken a few steadying breaths and turned to Loki with a pasted-on smile.  Forcing her voice into a semblance of brightness, she instead chirped a response in an octave higher than her usual tone.

“Right!  So.  Plan B?”

Wincing, she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as if to clear the (silly, so unbelievably silly) thoughts from her head and hoped that he didn’t notice.

Except that he did notice, or at least she thought that he did, because he gave her a long, silent side-eye as she gripped the steering wheel and tried to relax her face into a benign expression. 

_Lying to the so-called alien god of lies?  Yeah, because that’s gonna work out so well._

She felt the weight of his stare and forged on ahead with a slightly lowered (and, she hoped, less obviously fake) voice.

“Well, if you don’t have one, I’m going to suggest that we get the heck out of Baltimore.  It’s just a little too close to home for my comfort.”

He pursed his lips and squinted at her, and Darcy suddenly hoped against hope that telepathy wasn’t among his stunning repertoire of magic tricks.  Just in case, she avoided direct eye contact and forced herself into a mental slideshow of every stupid cat macro that she could remember until he looked away.

“In that, at least, we are of the same mind.”

She suppressed a snort.  _If you only knew_. 

“Well, I could drive, but to where?”  She shrugged, lifting her hands from the steering wheel and making an empty-handed gesture into the darkness.  “I’m fresh out of top-secret hideouts and I’ll bet that everyone I know is under surveillance right now.”

Loki’s elegant fingers strummed a complicated beat on the armrest as he appeared lost in thought, silent.  She risked a sideways glance over at him and her pulse quickened in response, much to her eternal embarrassment and shame.

 _That’s it, I’ve lost my marbles._   She sighed heavily, trying to snap herself back into some semblance of control.  _Come on, girl, he’s not human … and not exactly sane.  Appreciate the pretty but distance yourself from the crazy.  You can do it._

After that little pep-talk to herself she did feel better, a tiny step closer to regaining her common sense.  Unfortunately, self-control and control over the situation at hand weren’t synonymous, and she had to face the fact that she was well and truly stuck with cooperating with whatever insane – and likely dangerous – scheme Loki was about to suggest.

“I have directed my … _team_ ,” and here a muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he were struggling with the unfamiliar term, “to prepare for safe passage to our new base of operations.  We depart on the morrow, which leaves me with the particular dilemma of ensuring your safety for the next twenty-four hours.”

Darcy gasped, stung.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to be your little _dilemma_ ,” she replied, a touch of acid in her voice.  “Maybe if you had left me alone in the first place you wouldn’t have this problem.  You could just roll with your seat-of-the-pants plan for _enslaving my planet_ without having to worry about little old me.”

Again, he cast a withering sideways glance in her direction.  “Do not test my patience, Darcy.”

She sniffed indignantly.  “Ditto, dude.  I’ve had just about all I can take for one day.” 

 _How is it that we can push each other’s buttons after only a week?_   She mused in uncomfortable silence.  _It’s like we’re an old married –_

_Ugh, just NO.  _

_Do not even go there._

She sighed again in frustration as she crossed her arms and stared resolutely ahead.  “Look, I don’t care where we go as long as it’s not somewhere SHIELD – or Thor – is going to find us.”  The proverbial lightbulb switched on in her head and she turned to face Loki.  “Oh, hey, about that – since when did Thor start working for the feds?  And why would he show up at my parents’ house to kidnap me like that?”

Loki frowned.  “It would appear that my erstwhile brother has been recruited to SHIELD’s ranks with the singular purpose to thwart me.  He has joined forces with your planet’s self-styled band of Avengers to fight the Chitauri army, an aim which was doomed to failure from the start.”  His eyes narrowed in anger.  “I fear that Thor will not rest until this realm has returned to its so-called peaceful state.  Unfortunately, as his tactical skills are suited mainly to combat, I fear that in his newly formed alliance with SHIELD he has become no more than a tool to do their bidding.  His regrettable handling of your collection is evidence of that.”

“What, so you’re saying that they _made_ him participate in their little rendition scenario?”

“Undoubtedly so.”  Loki’s expression was solemn.  “He is desperate to retrieve the Foster woman.  Even if he considers you an ally, he would not hesitate to trade your freedom for hers.  SHIELD is aware that the two of you were once on friendly terms and parlayed that knowledge to their advantage.”

“So. Not. Cool.”  Darcy sniffed quietly as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.  “I mean, I want Jane back too but I wouldn’t _ever_ screw Thor over.  Especially not like that – I mean, they were going to _inject_ me with something.”  She blinked and looked up at the van’s ceiling, determined not to cry in front of Loki.  “This … just … it really sucks.”

Impassive, his gaze fell to the tiny pout formed by her lips.  “Once again, I shall apologize.”  His voice was quiet.  “It was never my intention to bring you harm.”

Darcy closed her eyes and shook her head, a sad smile curving her mouth.  “No, you just wanted to brainwash me into becoming one of your zombie minions, which would have been _so_ much better.”  Even fighting back tears, she couldn’t suppress the sarcasm.  “Shit.”  She shook her head.  “Everything about this situation just sucks.  Can it possibly get any worse?”

Loki chuckled darkly.  “Oh, my dear Darcy.  Never voice such a sentiment – you merely invite the universe’s wrath upon yourself.”

“Well that’s just great.  Now the entire _universe_ is pissed at me.”  She barked out a bitter laugh, hiding her face in her hands, allowing herself a moment of self-pity before pulling it together once again.  “So tell me, oh high and mighty Excellent Overlord of Earth and all its Inhabitants, how are you going to get me out of this alley?  Because I really doubt that we can hide out for much longer before someone alerts the authorities.”

“Now, now, Darcy,” he tutted as a long, slow smile curled across his face.  Even in the dark she couldn’t help but notice the flickering joy that dawned in his expression.  “You have an imagination for a reason.  You mustn’t be afraid to _use_ it.”  At that, a golden-green shimmer spread from his fingertips and slowly enveloped the car, the surroundings, and themselves, slowly rearranging the appearance of the shabby minivan into something much newer and cleaner.

“Holy shit!” she squeaked and wrenched the rear-view towards herself, startled as her appearance morphed and shrank before her eyes.  “Holy _shit_!”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After the initial shock of turning into a completely different person subsided (even though she didn’t actually _feel_ any different), she’d stared googly-eyed and helpless at Loki.  “What?  I mean, how – ?”

“How quickly you’ve forgotten my many talents.  Why, I am truly wounded.”  He delicately touched his hand to his chest, over his heart, in a mock show of pain.  “Never mind, I believe in myself – and fortunately mine is the only belief that matters.  Now – ” and here he rubbed his hands together, clearly delighted to be back in his element, “You shall hide in plain sight, as those fools will never know the difference, while I make preparations for our departure.”

His instructions followed with rapid-fire delivery, and it was all that Darcy could do to follow along (much less remember what she was supposed to do).  Drive, get out of the city, head north towards New Jersey.  Pick a chain hotel by the freeway, check in for the night and get some rest.  Wait for Loki to return, and most of all – under any circumstances – she was not to bring any unwarranted attention to herself.  Loki’s illusions would hold as long as she, and others, believed in them.  The least hint of being uncertain, the least suggestion of being unbelievable, would bring the whole thing crashing down and she’d wind up, once again, under the thumb of SHIELD. 

“But how – ”

“Hush.”  His finger touched her lips and her insides did a backflip.  “No one will know, no one will see.  You must believe in yourself, believe in _me_ , and this will work.”

And those words sealed her fate, because if there was one person that Darcy believed in, it was herself.  Believing in Loki was a fair stretch – at least until her traitorous heart became involved, and after that it was easy.  Becoming Lin Xu?  Not a problem.  Staying Darcy Lewis? 

_Yeah, not so much._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Morning arrives all too quickly and with it the realization that yes, this is her life and yes, it pretty much sucks.  Darcy’s shoulder and knee still throb – to say nothing of her chin, which she refuses to check.  She’s not exactly sure if poking a hole in the illusion for her own benefit would dismiss it all together, and it’s not a risk that she is willing to take.  So she avoids looking at the room’s many ( _seriously, why so many?_ ) mirrors and makes sure to build up a good head of steam in the bathroom before gingerly stepping into the shower. 

It’s strange, so very strange, as she can still _feel_ her own body as she lathers up but sees someone else whenever she looks down at her – or rather, Lin’s – feet.  It’s all too much for her brain to process for one morning, and Darcy vows to _just stop thinking about it_ as she prepares to face the day.  Or whatever crazy, fucked-up circumstances the day might bring.

She’s halfway through drying her hair when her stomach lets out a fierce rumble.  Not surprising, as she’s only had a half bowl of cereal and a couple of granola bars in the last thirty-six hours.  Luckily, the hotel has a free breakfast buffet – and, checking the clock, she has plenty of time to spare before Loki is likely to show.  Darcy dons her corporate power suit in a hurry and hightails it down to the first floor where the ravenous hordes have gathered, circling the breakfast bar like so many vultures.  She unobtrusively picks up a plate and sidles into the line, her mouth beginning to water at the smell of actual honest-to-goodness food.

Things are pretty chaotic in the breakfast area – business types and families all mingling, shouting and pushing and shoving to get the last of the microwaved cheese omelets.  Darcy wouldn’t normally be above throwing a well-timed elbow or two, but she suspects that sort of behavior might be considered out of place by a petite, power-suited businesswoman.  Not wanting to drop the illusion, she politely helps herself to a mini yogurt cup and a bagel. 

Her eye falls on a basket of tiny cereal boxes (she’s picked up a serious cereal habit during her time with Jane) and she nearly has a completely inappropriate giggle fit when she sees the Cocoa Puffs.  Biting her lip, she swipes a box and adds it to her tray.  She turns towards the coffee station, only to pause and defer to her better judgment – the scene is a total madhouse, too many people all trying to cram into not enough space.  Shrugging – there’s a coffeemaker in her room, after all – she steps lightly around the edges of the dining area and slips into an unused table in the corner.

It’s so nice just to sit down and eat without running for her life.  Darcy focuses on her bagel, smearing it with peanut butter and honey, before sitting back and pretending to watch the big-screen TV while surreptitiously scanning the room.  The corporate types have all gravitated towards the quiet corner where she sits, uniformly inhaling breakfast while obsessively checking their laptops or Blackberries.  A few have their faces buried in the free newspapers provided by the hotel. 

The families, however, have set up shop at the tables closer to the buffet, with kids running wild through the room and parents only half-heartedly yelling at them to quiet down as they hurriedly eat.  Darcy gives the stink-eye to a few of the brattier kids – it’s only to be expected of a woman of her stature, isn’t it? – and quickly munches her way through her bagel.

Setting aside the Styrofoam plate, she examines the box of Cocoa Puffs, turning it this way and that in her hands. 

_Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!_

The thought of Tracy singing the cereal’s slogan makes her bite her lip again, not in suppressed laughter but instead holding back a hot rush of tears

_Tracy.  Mom.  Dad … I wish I could get a message to them somehow.  Let them know that I’m okay.  Or – better yet – find out if they’re okay.  Make sure that they haven’t been taken hostage by those SHIELD bastards._

The man at the table to her right looks at his watch, picks up his coffee cup as if to take a sip and makes a sour expression as he realizes that it’s empty.  Darcy quickly busies herself with her yogurt as he scans the room, then folds the section of newspaper that he’d been reading and lays it across his table.  He stands and wanders back over to the coffee station, leaving his jacket, briefcase, and cell phone unattended.  Her attention zeroes in on the phone, peeking out from beneath the corner of the Sports section. 

_I can’t call them from the room, but … I could somehow get an anonymous message to them, right? Like, say, by using a number that nobody can trace back to me?_

Firmly deciding that Loki is not the only one in this convoluted spy game who can get up to a little mischief, Darcy gathers the remnants of her meal and piles the wrappings on her tray.  She nonchalantly stands, pretending to look for the nearest trash receptacle, as she glances around to see if anyone is watching her.  Just then, luck being on her side, a toddler over by the windows starts screeching – either drawing the attention of everyone in the room or conversely, sending them into full-on turtle mode.

Under cover of the distraction, Darcy surreptitiously palms the man’s phone, tucking it up the sleeve of her suit jacket as she dumps the contents of her tray into the trash can.  She resists the temptation to make a beeline for the elevator, deciding that it would be much too obvious to do so given the circumstances.  Instead, she steps back over to the buffet, avoiding the coffee station, and pours herself a half-full glass of cranberry juice.  She sips it slowly, keeping an eye on her victim, and when he turns for his table, coffee in hand, she sets the glass aside and makes her way slowly toward the elevator.

_Home free.  You’re home free.  Just stay calm …_

The elevator door slides open with a *ding* and yet another pack of kids rush out, followed by a tired-looking woman in yoga pants and curlers.  There’s a rising commotion stirring in the room behind her as the misbehaving throng rushes in, but Darcy – _no, Lin Xu_ – smiles sympathetically at the exasperated mother while calmly stepping in to the now-empty elevator.  She turns to face the chaos in the breakfast room, the inscrutable smile still on her face, as the doors slide shut.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Three minutes later, her nerves of steel having given way to the shakes of a post-adrenaline rush, she sits on the edge of the hotel room bed with the pilfered cell phone in her hands and tries to logically think through her next steps.

_I could call the house!  … No, damn, it’s probably bugged._

_I could call Mom’s cell or work!  … Nope, they’re probably both tapped._

_I could call Dad’s cell!  … It’s probably also tapped.  Same with his service._

_I could call Tracy’s cell!  … Yeah, no.  It’s probably tapped too._

_I could send email!  … Ugh, no.  Not a chance.  Can’t do that either … it’s probably all being filtered through a SHIELD router somewhere._

She sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping, the temporary spark of hope dying out.

_Well. Crap._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

By the time Loki appears, Darcy has well and truly worked herself into a blue funk.  He finds her lying sideways on the bed, fully clothed, staring blindly at the sky from between the half-drawn drapes.

“Darcy.”  His quiet tone belies the urgency in his voice.  “Do you need to make any further preparations?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Darcy?”  He takes a step closer to the bed.  “Are you ill?”

She sighs. “I’m fine.”  _Not really._

“Hurry, then, we must be away.”

She lies there for another moment, gazing blankly at a puffy cloud in the distance, wishing (not for the first time) that she could somehow undo the past week and get her life back to normal.  _I just want to_ _see my family.  I just want to rescue Jane.  I just want to …_ s _wallow the blue pill and pretend that everything is okay._

She bites her lip, feels the soft cotton of the duvet against her face, wills herself – once again – not to cry, and pulls herself together.  Sitting up with another bone-deep, weary sigh, she straightens her suit jacket with a tug and slides Lin Xu’s tiny feet into matching sensible black heels.

“Okay.”  Her voice is flat as she gathers her fake belongings, not once looking at Loki, unwilling to deal with the unnecessary – and unwanted – emotions that doing so would stir up.  “I’m ready.  Are you going to turn invisible again?”

He stares at her, perplexed, as if unable to reconcile her current mood with her normally feisty demeanor.  “Darcy, has something happened?”

_Other than being on the lam with an alien criminal mastermind?  Putting my family in danger?  Risking the fate of my entire fucking planet?  Absolutely nothing._

“No.”  She shakes her head, still not looking in his direction.  “You’re right, of course, we have to keep moving.  I’m just not in the mood to be shot at again today.”  A quavering smile passes across her lips as she does a quick double-check for any items left behind.  Not that she’d particularly miss any of her transformed candy wrappers, but she doesn’t want to leave any obvious clues for SHIELD.  “Oh, shit, should I wipe the room for prints?”  At that she looks up with a questioning glance. 

Loki returns her gaze, nonplussed.  “Prints?”

“You know, fingerprints?”  She wiggles the tips of her fingers at him.  He still looks clueless and she sighs again.  “Yeah, I guess they probably don’t have CSI in outer space, do they.  I’ll bet that Asgardian cops sweep the rooms for magical auras or some such shit.”  She gazes down at her own hands.  “Here on Earth, unless you somehow managed to magically change the unique patterns of the skin on my fingers, I’ve left physical evidence all over the room.  Not that I’ve ever been fingerprinted, of course,” she continues, “because I’ve never actually been arrested before.  Unless, oh, wait – crap.”  Her shoulders slump.  “Immigration took prints when Jane and I went to England.”

He seems uncertain.  “I will admit that the thought never occurred to me, so therefore I failed to take the necessary precautions.”  Darcy suppresses a disbelieving eye roll.  “However,” he continues, “I believe that I can assist you to – how did you refer to it – ‘wipe the room’?”

She eyes him warily before reaching into the bathroom for two towels.  “Yeah, I guess.  It’ll be faster if we both work together, at any rate.  Just take one of these – ” she lobs a towel in his direction – “and swipe at any flat surface.  We don’t have to completely remove the prints, just smudge them enough so that they can’t be matched with mine.”  She quickly runs the towel over the nightstand, being sure to rub the surface of the lamp as well. 

Loki watches her for a moment before stilling her hands with one of his own.  “Allow me.”  His signature shimmery green glow appears for another moment, scattering and spreading from floor to ceiling while he flashes a cocky smile in her direction.

Darcy jerks her hand away.  “That’s a neat trick,” she begrudgingly admits.  “Let’s hope that it works.”  She tosses her towel onto the bed and grabs the handle of her rolling bag, then stops just short of grasping the door handle with her other hand.  She resists the temptation to bang her head against the wall, mainly because she doesn’t want Loki to see how upset and frustrated she is. 

 _I am just not thinking clearly today._  

A guilty pang runs through her as she thinks about the great cell phone caper, the spoils of which are tucked into her pocket.  “Um, can you toss me that towel so that we can get out of here?”

“Whatever for?”  Loki scoffs, beckoning Darcy to his side.  She stands stiffly by the door, resolutely not moving an inch towards him.  _As if I’m his dog or something._

“So that I can go downstairs and check out,” she says slowly, as if explaining herself to a small child.  “I thought that you wanted to leave.”

“Yes, well, I thought that we’d take a more … shall we say … _expedient_ route,” he reaches for her, a wicked glint in his eye.

“What, you’re going to teleport both of us again?”  She moves out of his extended reach.  “I take it that your batteries are all charged up?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he snaps, taking a step forward and grasping her firmly by her upper arm. 

“Hey!” Darcy yelps, trying to wiggle free.  “I thought we talked about this?  No grabby.”

“There is no time for further foolishness, Darcy.”  His lips are set in a grim line as he regards her struggle.  “We have a very narrow window of opportunity to be free of our pursuers, and we must be away at once.”

She huffs in disgust.  “Once again with the lack of planning.”  She manages to wrench her arm free, letting go of the roller bag to rub at her now-sore upper arm.  “The hotel will make a stink if I just up and disappear without checking out.  Just let me go downstairs and leave the key, okay?  I’ll meet you at the car in five minutes.”

His eyes are dark and his expression darker as he regards her defiant glare.  “Very well,” he grits out, “but do not dawdle and do not make any attempt at escape.”

Darcy snorts, retrieving the hand towel and using it to unlock the door.  “Have no fear, Oh High and Mighty Master of the Universe.  I wouldn’t dream of trying to escape.  After all, I know what you keep in your pocket – and it sure as hell isn’t because you’re happy to see me.”  With that, she flings the door open and stomps down the hall, murderous expression on her face and roller bag in tow, nearly steamrolling the housekeeper pulling sheets and towels from the cart parked two doors down.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Lin Xu manages to check out of the hotel without further incident, making small talk about her (imaginary) job as a pharmaceutical sales rep and smiling benignly at the desk clerk as he prints her receipt.  Fortunately, the conversation never moves on from generic pleasantries and Darcy keeps up her Academy award-winning act for as long as it takes her to make it out to the car – where there is, of course, absolutely no sign of Loki.  Suppressing a grunt of frustration, she pops the trunk and drops her suitcase inside, then slams the lid, only to find him leaning against the car.  Stifling a shriek, she instead mutters a curse and gestures to the front door.

“Get in, you freak,” she hisses.  “And count yourself lucky that I don’t have my taser.”

He manages to magic himself into the passenger seat, no doubt invisible to all human eyes (or cameras, of which there are many blanketing every possible view of the parking lot).  Darcy starts up the car and carefully backs out of her space, maneuvering the Camry out onto the service drive and heading towards the New Jersey Turnpike.  She refuses to look at him entirely.  The previous day’s nerves and giddy inappropriate crush have somehow turned into seething anger, and she doesn’t trust herself to stay as calm as she’d like.

“Before you start lecturing me about being in a hurry, I figure that we’ll drop the car somewhere crowded.  Somewhere that it will take a few days to be noticed.”  She keeps her eyes on the road, wishing that she had a magical satnav system on board ( _or even a good old-fashioned man-made one, for fuck’s sake_ ) that would give her a hint on where to find the closest mall.  Or college campus.  Or any other crowded public parking garage where she could pull in before disappearing completely.

“Mmm.  A most excellent idea.”  If he notices her foul mood he doesn’t mention it.  His eyes flick down to the digital clock on the dashboard.  “We do not have excessive time to spare, but under the circumstances I suppose that a slight delay is necessary.”

Darcy bites the sarcastic retort back from her lips and clenches her jaw, glaring ahead.  The Turnpike on-ramp is just ahead and she’s going to have to make a decision very soon.

“Right.  So.  Where are we headed?”  She feels his gaze upon her but chooses instead to focus on the road.  She’s frustrated by his continued evasiveness and the very _idea_ that he’d continue to hold back information from her – now that she is well and truly dependent on him for her continued survival – pisses her off beyond the point of no return.  “Dammit, come _on_!”  She hisses as the light ahead turns green.  “We don’t have time for you to continue playing at being the secretive criminal mastermind here.  You need to tell me which direction to turn, or so help me god – ”

“North,” Loki says, his voice faintly amused.  “I do believe that Port New Jersey is north.”

She swings her head around to him, mouth agape, shocked.  “We’re going _where_ now?”

“North,” he supplies helpfully, the expression on his face one of innocence.  “Isn’t that our turn?  Just there, on the right?”

She grinds her teeth and gives the steering wheel a sharp yank. 

“Port New Jersey?  Isn’t that like, right across the river from New York City?”

“Yes,” he agrees, his tone amused.

“Isn’t that kind of stu– ” she stops herself mid-sentence and counts backwards from ten, trying to calm down before saying something that she’ll certainly be forced to regret.  “… I mean, do you think that’s the wisest course of action?  Backtracking to where they’re almost certainly looking for us?”

“I suppose that is a valid point,” he shrugs nonchalantly.  “However, our transport is located there.”

She side-eyes him with as much grace as she can, given that she’s accelerated to a smooth seventy-five miles per hour and the mid-morning Turnpike traffic is a few notches up from light.

“Transport,” she states flatly.  “I’m not sure that I even want to know.”

Again, a grin flickers at the corners of his mouth, and she has to fight the urge to slap it clear off his face. 

_Seriously, does he think this is a fucking joke?  My life is in shreds and he’s playing some kind of game?_

Still, a happy Loki is infinitely better than a bat-shit-crazy Loki, and she figures that it might be important for her own continued safety to play along.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Darcy remarks.  “Did you get a good night’s sleep or something?”

He laughs.  “Not in a manner of speaking, although your continued concern touches me greatly.  No, I am simply pleased at the rate with which my team – ” and here he glances at her as if for her approval – “has been able to make progress towards furthering our mutual goals.” 

“ … Mutual?”

“Yes,” he says, as though it were obvious.  “Not all of my soldiers are Chitauri, Darcy.  I’ve even managed to enlist some of your kind in my plans.”

“Okay, we’re going to skip right over the part where you say ‘my kind’ with that oh-so-condescending tone and jump right into the deep water.”  She glances in the rear-view mirror to make sure that the center lane is clear before signaling a change.  “When you say that you’ve enlisted people, what exactly are you talking about?  Are these all people that you’ve managed to poke with your silly stick?”

Loki’s lips twist in distaste.  “ _Scepter_.  It is a scepter.”  He raises a single finger to her as she opens her mouth to reply.  “Before you continue, no, not everyone was, ah, _recruited_ thusly.”

“So, who?  And how?”

“As a former acquaintance once enlightened me, ‘SHIELD has no shortage of enemies’.  I have simply managed to entice those enemies to join me in my endeavors.”

Resisting her sudden urge to slam on the brakes, Darcy instead turns to Loki and simply gapes.  “Are you even for _real_?”

His smug smile is her only reply.

“I just.  _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_?  That’s it?  That’s how you recruited an army?”

“Yes,” he smirks.  “That and the use of my ‘silly stick’.”

“Fuck.”  She pounds the steering wheel.  “Stop the planet, I want to get off.  This one’s suddenly filled with stupid.”  She can see his menacing glare from the corner of her eye but refuses to give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes.  “Seriously.  You think that you’re so smart, and yet … god, how can you even _trust_ these people?  I mean, we both know that SHIELD isn’t all that, but – who _are_ these people you’ve recruited?  And what’s their game?  There’s got to be something in it for them, right?  Are you paying them, or what?”

“We have not discussed terms, although I suppose that will come in good time.”  He has the good sense to look slightly uncomfortable.  “I assure you that I am ruthless in my negotiations – when necessary, that is.”

She snorts.  “You can’t kill _all_ of us, Loki.”

“Why, my dear Darcy,” and here he tucks a long arm behind the driver’s seat, leaning close to whisper in her ear.  “Whatever makes you think that I would dream of killing you?”

Darcy tamps down the fluttery feeling that accompanies the tickle of his breath against her ear and purses her lips into a frown.  “The feeling is _so_ not mutual.”  She gives him a gentle shove with her elbow.

At this, he leans back and laughs.  “Why, I’m disappointed.  And here I thought that I was your best friend.”

She snorts.  “I said that I was _your_ best friend.  There’s a slight difference.”  She sneaks a peek at him from the corner of her eye and her heart skips a beat at his surprised – and slightly forlorn – expression.

_Oh, for the love of god, just kill me now._

_I do have a crush on a magical crazy murderous space alien.  One that may or may not succeed in taking over my planet and enslaving my whole race._

_I always did have shit taste in men …_

She forces her eyes back on the road.  “Well, alright.  Maybe you’re in the top five.”  She can’t help but smile, despite herself, the corners of her mouth quirking up.  Loki throws back his head and laughs, a sound that she’s never heard before, and a feeling like warm sunshine spreads through her at the thought that she can do this to him, that despite his arrogance and his ruthless nature and his foolish pride that she, little old Darcy Lewis, can bring him to the point of simple, unguarded pleasure.  And it’s a rush that she chooses not to examine … yet.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Within minutes, she sees the freeway signs indicating that the next stop leads to Rutgers University, and she jumps at her chance. 

“We’re going to stop here, okay?  I’m sort of familiar with the campus – it was on my college tour – and I know that there are probably some remote lots where we can ditch the car.”

Loki is back to his normal (slightly cranky) self.  “I will concede to your judgment as long as we waste no further time.”  He glances at the dashboard clock again, all obvious displeasure and sour demeanor, and Darcy wants to roll her eyes but doesn’t.

“Yesterday you were all compliments about my powers of evasion, yeah?  Then be quiet and let me do my thing.”

He mutters something under his breath and she grins; as long as doesn’t turn her into a toad then she knows that she’s won.  Seconds tick by and she still feels human, so she mentally puts a check mark into her win column (today’s count: Darcy 1, Loki 0) and skirts the edges of campus.  Soon enough, she finds a distant, half-empty lot and pulls the car into a space on the far edge near the tree line, away from any obvious cameras.

“Here, this is about as good as we’re going to get,” she tells him.  “I’ve worked my magic, now it’s your turn.”

“Charming,” he bites out, his tone clipped, and once again grasps her upper arm.  Gently, this time.  “Are you ready?”

She swallows, preparing herself for the dizzying feeling of Loki’s magic.  “As I’ll ever be – ” and before she can even finish her sentence, the world pulls away in a long streak of black and white.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Over the many, many years of his life, Loki has mastered the art of teleportation, because _duh_ , while Darcy – new to the concept and quite bereft of her own magic – has not.  Which really wouldn’t be that much of an issue, because they’re together, except that this time he pulled them from a seated position.  When they suddenly appear between two giant metal shipping containers in what she assumes is Port New Jersey-Elizabeth, he has managed to right himself into full-on majestic Loki stance while she staggers and falls backwards onto her ass.  In a puddle.  Of freaking _course_.

She yelps in frustration, the cement hard and unyielding and the cold water soaking the back of her pants.  “Jesus!  Could this day get any worse?!”

He bends down and presses his hand against her mouth and _fuck, that is not hot_. 

Darcy seethes.

“Be silent, for once,” he hisses.

She obeys, for once, and he pulls his long, elegant hand away from her face.  She pushes herself out of the puddle and stands, her mouth pulling down in a frown of disgust as she reaches back to ineffectually wipe water away from her now-drenched backside.

Loki stealthily moves to the edge of the shipping container and peers around the corner, looking this way and that.  After a moment, he is apparently satisfied with what he sees and straightens, turning back to Darcy.

“Come.  I did not wish to land directly on the ship; to do so would arouse unnecessary suspicion.  I will change your appearance – you will be disguised as one of my subordinates and we will board the ship without question.”

Darcy finds her voice.  “Uh, ship?”

He returns to peeking around the corner, clearly on guard. “Yes, a ‘container ship’, as I am told they are named, to be exact.  Much larger than the ones at ho— I mean, on Asgard – but more than adequate for my purpose.”

“You’re hijacking a fucking ship.”

He turns back to her, that feral grin once again returning to his face.  “Not hijacking, my dear.  I find that word to be loaded with negative connotations.  I prefer the term ‘borrowing’, don’t you?”  He puts a finger under her chin and lifts it, his eyes on hers.  “And while we are on the topic of language, have we not discussed your distasteful overuse of words that are, shall we say … unladylike?”

She huffs.  “Yeah, somehow I doubt that you’d drag a _lady_ through old subway tunnels, much less dump one on her ass in some freezing puddle.”  She pulls back from him and looks down at her outfit, now much worse for wear.  “So, what are you gonna magic up next?  A sailor suit?  Some camouflage?  Lady Gaga’s entire wardrobe?”

He sighs, and with a careless flick of his wrist she’s now dressed all in black:  jumpsuit, Kevlar vest, Doc Martens.  At her waist is a belt full of weapons and combat gear; when she reaches down for her shiny new gun with an undiluted expression of glee he shakes his head.  “My apologies, Darcy, that is simply an illusion.”

“Of freaking _course_ it is,” she grumps. 

He shakes his head.  “Credit me with a small measure of self-preservation, then?”

Darcy lets out a loud, exasperated exhale and fondly punches his arm.  “Dude, I saw you take at least three point-blank bullets from a SHIELD agent; you think I can compete with that?”

He shrugs.  “I have learned, through bitter experience, not to take such things for granted.”

She doesn’t know whether to be pleased or insulted, so she settles on sympathetic.  “Well, you can rest assured that I don’t shoot my friends, especially not those in the top five.”

Loki simply shakes his head and smiles, as though he doesn’t know what to do with the sentiment. 

“It’s time.” He says, slipping back into the role of general.  “Follow my lead, do not speak, do not draw attention to yourself and this ruse will work.  Once we board the ship and you are settled in your quarters … we will discuss the contents of your pockets.” 

His expression hardens into a stern glare, and he turns on his boot and marches off around the corner.  Darcy scurries to keep up with him, internally freaking out at the possibility that he somehow knows about the cell phone.  As she rounds the corner, she glances down at her hand and nearly falls into another puddle in shock – it’s larger, decidedly masculine, and distinctly brown.

_Mouth?  Shut._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Darcy has had the privileged pleasure of sailing on many cruises in her short life.  The memories of past family vacations flash through her mind as they march down the docks towards what must only be their _transport_.  

Giant white shiny pretty boats don’t bother her.  The ship directly in front of them?  _Scary._

Container ships – or ‘box boats’, in the lingo, judging from the conversation that swirls around her as she halts, standing at attention two respectful feet back from Loki – aren’t the same as cruise ships, _no sir_.  This ship is _massive_ , the hull much wider than a cruise ship and almost as tall, but where the cruise ships that she’s familiar with have rows and rows of gleaming balconies down each side this one has stacks and stacks of shipping containers, all different colors and markings, some new and some rusty and all contributing to the near-claustrophobic cacophony of sights and sounds threatening to break through her veil of disinterested alertness. 

She’s pretending to act like the SHIELD agents that kidnapped her, clinging to that same air of being on guard while completely not giving a shit, but it’s hard when there are cranes clanging and forklifts whizzing by and people – _god, so many people_ – and it’s all too much after spending the last few days in virtual isolation, with nobody but Loki for company.

But she perseveres, and keeps up her act, and as he finishes barking out orders to the crew surrounding him he turns slightly towards her and sends a curt nod of approval in her direction.  She _almost_ has time to smile in response, a warm flush of happiness racing through her, but she fortunately has to run to keep up with him as he turns in a swirl of leather and strides purposefully towards the gangplank.  All thoughts of inappropriate smiles aside, she keeps up her faux-stern demeanor and falls into step behind him.

“Sir,” a machine-gun toting solder standing at the entrance barks as he pulls himself to full attention.  No salute, _because let’s be real_ , but the respect is there all the same.  He doesn’t spare a glance for Darcy – or at least her disguise – as they march past the sentry point and onto the ship.

 _I guess it’s normal for Loki to have minions following his every step._   _Must do wonders for his ego …_ She suppresses a smirk. _Not that he needs any help with that._

Darcy is so intent on her internal snark that she almost loses her mind when they enter the large, cavernous cargo hold.  In here the noise of the containers being loaded is nearly deafening, and she can’t hear a word that Loki says as he pulls a random worker aside for questioning.  The sailor gestures to a steep, narrow staircase running along the north wall of the hold and leading to a catwalk – which leads to another steep, narrow staircase, and another catwalk, and so on – as far up as Darcy can see in the dim light of the hull. 

_No fancy glass-walled elevators in this atrium. Fuck._

Loki nods at the man and sends him on his way, then gestures for Darcy to follow as he ascends.  She reaches the base of the rusty metal stairs and looks up … then dizzily grips the handrail, swallowing.

She’s deathly afraid of heights, a fact that she didn’t have the time or inclination to mention to ‘Thor’ on the roof of the SHIELD facility as a hail of bullets went whizzing past them.

Swallowing again, she grits her teeth and closes her eyes, then begins climbing at what she hopes is a steady, inconspicuous pace.  She can’t cling to the handrail as she desperately wants to, and the only thing keeping her from crumpling to the floor in a sobbing, hysterical mess is her inner mantra, chanted over and over again.

_I’m going to kill him.  I’m actually going to kill him.  I’m not sure how I’m going to kill him, but I am going to kill him. _

She’s not sure if it’s the thought or the familiarity that soothes her.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Somehow, and she’s not really sure how, they make it to the top of the staircase and through a rusty door at the upper reaches of the hold.  They step into a narrow hallway painted in a shiny, waterproof not-quite-puce color, and Darcy just barely contains herself from flinging herself at Loki as she recovers from the shock of the climb.

“Fucking _fabulous_ ,” she murmurs, looking around the hallway instead, and Loki glances at her sharply before striding off down the hall.  There’s another door and another set of stairs (in a normal-looking stairwell, thank god), where they climb four more flights and squeeze through another door into yet another windowless, sickly greenish-pink hallway.

_Jesus, are they trying to make me seasick?_

Her pondering is cut short, however, as Loki stops in front of a numbered door and opens it.  He gestures for her to enter the room, then steps in and closes the door behind himself.  It’s a stateroom, or at least what passes for a stateroom on a container ship, maybe eight feet by ten feet with a porthole centered at the top of one wall.  There’s a narrow cot pushed to one side and a table in the corner.  Oh, and boxes.  Lots of boxes, big square ones, piled all around the bed and on top of the table and in what little floor space is left.  It’s small and claustrophobic and Darcy has the awful sinking feeling that she’s going to wind up in this cramped little cell until they get to where they’re going.

“You will stay here,” he begins, and she closes her eyes as the sinking feeling intensifies.

_No. No no no.  You’re on a ship now – no sinking feelings allowed!_

“ … keep the door locked and I will return as soon as it is reasonably safe for me to do so.”  She tunes back in to his voice as he finishes with his orders, and she didn’t catch all of what he said – but let’s face it, she’s not going to listen to him anyway.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, oh Reverent Ruler of the Sea.”  She gives him a mock salute and turns to inspect the boxes, because if she’s going to stay locked in this closet for any length of time then _hell yeah_ she’s going to snoop.  He grasps her upper arm again, firmly but gently, and bends her to face him. 

“I speak the truth, Darcy.  We have reached a delicate point in our journey and you must – I repeat, _must_ – follow my instructions to the letter.”

She rolls her eyes and jerks her arm out of his hand.  “Yeah, yeah.  No sneaking around the ship, I get it.  Don’t worry, dude – you couldn’t get me back down that rickety-ass stairway if you paid me.”

He searches her eyes and must be satisfied at what he finds, because he releases her from his grip and turns to leave.  He stops short at the door and turns his head to the side, speaking softly over his shoulder.

“I offer my apologies in advance for the next few days.  I anticipate that you will find them rather trying, but I suspect that you will be quite pleased when we reach our destination.”

She turns to look at him, the box that she’d begun to rattle stilling in her hands.  “And just where is that?  Or wait, let me guess – you can’t tell me.  Or _won’t_ tell me.  Same difference, isn’t it?”

But for once he surprises her – _really_ surprises her – and answers.

“Iceland.  Our destination is Iceland.”

She freezes, the box dropping from her now boneless fingers.

_Iceland?!?!_

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) I am so sorry for the inexcusable delay. This chapter was originally intended to be a short 'transition' chapter but ... well, sort of took on a life of its own.
> 
> 2.) I will admit that I have never been on a container ship, so any inaccuracies can be chalked up to ignorance and total failure on the part of my Google-fu.
> 
> 3.) Chapter 10 is completely outlined, so it won't take 4 months to complete -- I promise. :)


	10. The Scientists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my lovely and talented beta and cheerleader, [LaTessitrice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/works). I couldn't have done this without you. <3

“Iceland,” Loki had said nonchalantly, as if shipping out for a far-flung island nation was nothing out of the ordinary, and before he left the room – firmly closing the door behind him – had instructed her to ‘stay here’ and ‘keep silent’;  both of which she’d been reluctantly doing for – well, _weeks_ now.

_And look at how my luck has held up so far …_

Forced to run for her life, nearly driven to suicide, kidnapped, assaulted by a _very_ terrifying Chitauri, hospitalized, renditioned, shot at, and now more or less aiding and abetting the world’s number one most wanted supervillain …

_Yeah, following instructions is something that’s not really going to happen at this point._

Not that she particularly wants to go anywhere.  She looks around the room, starts towards the door, then thinks about that long, _long_ staircase down into the hold, and stops short.

_Exploring doesn’t seem like such a good idea, now does it?_

Add to that the fact that the ship was positively _crawling_ with criminals, would-be soldiers, other evil henchmen, and possibly more murderous aliens … well, Darcy’s watched enough James Bond films to know how disobeying orders usually turns out _._

So, against both her better judgment and her rebellious nature – and the fact that it really, _truly_ irritates her to do so – she obeys Loki and stays put.

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Not quite an hour later the ship’s engines rumble to life.  Darcy clambers up to balance precariously on the table-slash-desk in an effort to press her nose against the porthole, but all she can see of land is a faint glimpse of passing cranes as the ship slowly begins to move.  Far below her window, rows and rows of multi-colored shipping containers stretch like a giant horizontal tetris board off into the distance, where she spots another tower at the stern of the ship.  At least, she _thinks_ it’s the stern, given that her window faces in the opposite direction than the ship is moving.

_Ugh, don’t think about it._

Swallowing an unwelcome wave of not-quite-seasickness, she eases herself off the table and begins her self-appointed task of investigating the confines of her – _room? cell?_ – in an attempt to keep her mind off the situation.

She’d already found the (tiny) head, discovered that her door locked from the inside and not the outside, and was now ready to start on the big mystery:  the boxes.

The boxes – _seriously, so many boxes_ , stacked on every flat surface in the room – are all the same size and color, with no labels or identifying marks.  No brand names, no scuffs, no stray FedEx stickers or scribbles on the sides.  No indication of where they came from or who they were for, just stacks and stacks of unblemished, plain brown cardboard boxes crowding the tiny room.  Darcy might be alternately creeped out and claustrophobic if she weren’t so nosy. 

Not to mention that she’d been poking at and rattling said boxes while Loki was still in the room and he hadn’t said a word to the contrary.  What with his apparent penchant for giving her a hard time at every opportunity, she figures that if he’d wanted her to leave the boxes alone he would have said _something_. 

Yet another thing that she would have promptly ignored, but _still_.

She rips into the boxes like Christmas morning – if Santa had come six and a half months early and onto a sketchy cargo ship with no chimney – and stops short in confusion.

The first box contains neatly organized office supplies.

The second box contains a pile of pink Styrofoam packing peanuts – and an iPad.

By the third box, Darcy realizes that the contents of the boxes – all _seventeen_ of them – belong to her.  They contain the things – _Loki’s ‘trinkets’_ – that were left behind when they disappeared from the Madison House.  She doesn’t know whether to be pleased or pissed:  pleased, because he obviously went to some time and trouble to ensure her comfort during the journey ahead – or pissed, because she isn’t exactly sure how she is supposed to feel about _that_.

In any event, the mental image of Bhavya, calm and competent Bhavya, efficiently packing up the contents of the suite into these neatly organized parcels, causes Darcy’s vision to blur with unwelcome tears.

_I hope that SHIELD never finds out that she’s helped me.  I’d never forgive myself – no, I’d never forgive Loki – if something happened to her._

Darcy swallows the lump in her throat and looks out the porthole, up at the pale blue sky streaked with cirrus clouds and drifting contrails.  She wonders what lies Loki spun to Bhavya, to bypass the older woman’s admittedly well-founded suspicions, that would have enticed her to just pack up the boxes and forward them on to – where?  With no labels or directions, how did they wind up on the ship?  And how did he convince her that Darcy was safe?

 _Bhavya wanted to keep me safe,_ she snorts.  _There’s nothing she could have done, really._

Darcy bites her lip and aims her stare at the ceiling of the tiny room, panic and fear welling up as she valiantly attempts to blink back tears.  She loses the battle, the treacherous drops pooling at the corners of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks as the long-simmering emotions of the past week suddenly boil over in a dueling surge of panic and fear. 

_It’s up to me to save her, isn’t it?_

Her whole body shaking, she hurls the nearest thing she can reach – a book – at the wall and almost – _almost_ – feels better at the resounding *clang*.

_It’s up to me to save all of them … Mom, Dad, Tracy, everyone … as if I’m a superhero or something._

Overwhelmed, she sinks to her knees on the unforgiving floor, surrounded by boxes, and muffles the wrenching sobs with shaking hands pressed to her mouth.  She can’t think, she can’t plan, she can’t do anything but violently _feel_ as the entire weight of the world seems to come crashing down on her shoulders in a single moment.  She’s lost in her misery for what feels like forever, but after a few minutes the worst of it subsides and her despair is dulled somewhat by her sudden outburst.

Still half-crying, she sits, leaning against the bed, and glances again at the neatly-packed boxes.

_I’m just me – just little old Darcy.  What do I do?  What can I do?  How do I fix this?_

The tears start again, gentler this time, the jagged edges of her emotions smoothed and only a sense of _wrongness_ prevailing.

_Hold up.  I’m not ‘just me’.  I’m Darcy Lewis.  The one and only.  I’m … kind of awesome, actually._

She begins to giggle at that thought, laughing through the tears, snorting and hiccuping as the worst of the sobs subside.

_I’m totally awesomesauce.  I can save the world – why not?_

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

After changing her clothes – because magically refashioned or otherwise, she’d still been wearing them for the better part of two days – Darcy decides to take a full inventory of the remaining boxes to find out what (if anything) she’ll grab in case of an emergency exit. 

 _I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of another gunfight in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, that’s for sure_.

After opening another few boxes she finds the other electronics that Loki had so thoughtfully provided, along with her books and notes.

_Notes from back when I thought I’d be running a political think tank for a megalomaniacal alien, not running for my life._

Clothes and toiletries are next.  Darcy sorts out the few items that she’ll likely wear on the ship and sets the rest aside.  Finally, she finds two boxes of odds and ends, including a collection of high-end organic snacks ( _yay!_ ) and a pile of last week’s newspapers ( _weird!_ ).  She stacks the latter on the end of the bed until she can get the ship’s recycling situation figured out, and dives into the former, plotting her next move while munching on a handful of Madison House-branded dark-chocolate-covered macadamia crunch. 

_Soo … do I get back to work on the plans for world domination, or do I give myself a well-deserved break and play a couple rounds of Fruit Ninja?_

Given her emotional state, it’s not any contest, really.  She snags the iPad from the desktop and fires it up, only to realize that she must not have properly powered it down before being so abruptly – _well,_ _removed_ – from the hotel.  The battery is completely drained and the device won’t even sputter to life.

With a sigh, she looks around the tiny cabin. 

 _Do these rooms even have outlets?_ 

She doesn’t see any that are immediately obvious. 

 _Great, so if there is one it must be behind the desk or the bed._  

With a sigh, she rolls into a kneeling position, shoves another piece of chocolate into her mouth, and gets down on hands and knees to look beneath the bed.  She can’t see much from her angle, though, and crawls around to the headboard in order to pull the bedframe slightly away from the wall. 

Either she underestimates her own strength – or, more likely, overestimates the weight of the bed – because her sharp yank dislodges the entire thing completely, sending the thin mattress bouncing to the floor.  Darcy’s reflexes are just fast enough to catch the tin of chocolate before it crashes to the waxed linoleum, but she doesn’t manage to stop the landslide of newspapers that scatter everywhere.

_This just really isn’t my day.  It’s not even my week._

Crawling over to the desk, she pulls it away from the wall, albeit much more gently.  The wall is smooth and unblemished, not an outlet in sight.  With a groan, she slumps back against the wall, nudging the bed back into place with the toe of her shoe. 

Her head thumps back against the wall and she sits there, thinking, for a few silent minutes. 

_There has to be an outlet in here somewhere.  Where is it?_

Her eyes roam the walls, the baseboards, the ceiling.  She doesn’t see anything but the light switch near the door and the light fixture with its single bulb in the center of the room.

_Wait, just a naked lighbulb?  I wonder if …_

She crawls to the center of the room and looks up, stifling a shout of joy when she sees it.  There’s an outlet on the light fixture, on the exact opposite side of the bulb from where she was sitting:  one small socket that appears to be a grounded US outlet.  Doing a mental fist-pump, Darcy scrambles to her feet and pushes the chair to the center of the room.  Clambering up, she plugs the iPad charger into the socket, but then laughs as she realizes that the other end is going to dangle at least five feet off the ground.

_Hey, necessity is the mother of invention, right?_

She stacks several of the empty boxes on top of each other to create a makeshift charging stand for the iPad and plugs it in.

_Damn!_

Frustration at the boiling point, she looks around the room for the book she hurled at the wall earlier, planning on a repeat performance.  Instead, she notices the light switch, and she does a mental face-palm.

_Oh, yeah, duh._

Switching on the light, Darcy hears the familiar chime of the iPad going into charging mode, and once again suppresses the urge to celebrate.  Instead, she collapses on the bed and stares at the iPad, willing it to charge faster.  After a few minutes, her mind starts to wander.

_I wonder what Loki is doing right now?_

Her mind conjures up images of Loki in a Naval Officer’s uniform, standing on the bridge, ordering everyone about. 

 _That’s not too far off from the truth, I’ll bet,_ she giggles to herself.  _The Admiral of Alien Worlds reduced to commanding a container ship?  Priceless._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

The next few days see her settling into an uneasy routine.  She reads her books, plays Fruit Ninja on the iPad, charges the laptop.  Generates copious notes regarding the various political structures of Earth and pretends to herself that she has the faintest idea on how to achieve the installation of a supreme global commander.  She sleeps fitfully, napping more often than not, waking in a cold sweat to thoughts of what could happen to her.  What is likely happening to her friends and family.  What could happen in the future, to everyone on the planet.

She does a lot of yoga, just to clear her mind, pass the time.  It doesn’t seem to help.

Meals arrive, sometimes magically appearing on her desk, other times brought by a teleporting Loki.  He never stays for long and rarely makes conversation.  With each day that passes he looks a little worse for wear, his pallor increasing and his eyes returning to their red-rimmed and sunken state.  Where she once found his appearance imposing, his stature impressive, Darcy now begins to worry about his physical and mental well-being.  He’s delivering dinner on the third day, gaunt and withdrawn, when she can’t take it any longer.

“Loki,” she starts, reaching over to lay a hand on his forearm.  The metal of his vambrace is cold and unyielding, much like his expression.  “When was the last time that you slept?”

He glances down at her hand and rolls his shoulders in a rather un-princely shrug.  “It is of no import.”

“Of course it is,” she returns automatically.  “You’re exhausted, you’re in charge of an entire ship, and you’re running some grand scheme – probably more than one, actually.  If you don’t sleep, you’ll make mistakes.  Get yourself hurt.”

He chuckles dryly and without humor.  “I find myself with a touch of – what is your kind’s expression – déjà vu?”  Shaking his head, he deftly removes his arm from beneath her hand.  “I recall that we have previously had this conversation; the outcome has not changed.  I require very little sleep to function properly.”

Darcy growls in frustration.  “Dude.  Come _on_.  You look like you’re about to pass out, okay?  I don’t want you to like, fall overboard or anything.”

“I assure you that there is very little chance of that,” Loki retorts.  “While I find your concern, as always, touching, it is simply without merit.”  He takes a step back from Darcy and nods at the desk.  “Enjoy your meal.  Breakfast may be rather delayed tomorrow as I have some urgent matters to attend to in the morning which will necessitate my absence.”

“Wait, what?  You’re not leaving the ship, are you?”  At the tilt of his chin, she explodes.  “Oh my GOD, Loki, you can’t just leave me here!”

Loki lifts his finger to his lips, shushing her.  “I can and I will.  You will be safe as long as you stay in this room; not a single person aboard is aware of your presence … should you be quiet.”

Darcy gives him a good whack on the arm with the oversized sleeve of her sweater.  “You. Are. Such. A.  JERK!”  She huffs.  “Locking me up on this ship like some sort of prisoner – ”

“ – a prisoner who is very well looked after indeed – ”

“ – like a _prisoner_ , Loki!  I haven’t done anything wrong, and you’ve put me in this cell for god knows how long – ”

“ – eight days, exactly, and I suspect that you will be pleased with the outcome – ”

“ – eight DAYS I’m going to be in this room?  Do you even _know_ about the Geneva convention regarding the treatment of prisoners?”

“ – I expect no gratitude from you, Darcy, even though I went to great lengths to secure your comfort.”

_He’s got me there,_ Darcy admits. 

“Fine.  Look, just do what you’ve gotta do, okay?  But I don’t like it, not one bit, I don’t like being here on this ship and I don’t like having to hide and I don’t like knowing about the types of people you’re leaving me here with.  And … I don’t like not knowing what you’re up to.  Not when it could get you killed.”

At that, a tiny bit of softness flickers around his tired eyes.

“I assure you, Darcy … you need not worry.  No harm will come to me.  And your concern is … noted.”

She shrugs, not trusting herself to look at him.  “Yeah, whatever.  I just – well, if something happens to you then I’m pretty much screwed, right?”

“Ah.”  His response is dry, his tone tinged with sarcasm.  “I have apparently misunderstood the source of your concern.”  He gives her an abbreviated nod of his chin.  “Enjoy your meal, Darcy.  I shall send the next as soon as I am able.”

“No, wait – I – ”  but he was gone in a flash of shimmering green, and she was left looking at her dinner tray and feeling like a first-class a-hole.

_Yeah, that went well._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

That night, she sleeps fitfully, her dreams vivid and violent. 

_She was trapped in her room, looking out of her porthole, watching Loki fight a shadowy group of foes on the deck.  He was graceful in battle, almost dancing, throwing knives in rhythmic fashion and sending dark figures overboard with well-coordinated blasts of green energy.  He was woefully outnumbered, however, as there didn’t seem to be any minions fighting on his behalf.  As a particularly ominous group of enemies approached him from behind, she began to scream and pound on the porthole, trying her hardest to warn him, strangely desperate to save him from his fate._

_They advanced stealthily, steadily, enveloping him in a tide of darkness as she yelled herself hoarse.  A sense of dread overtook her and choked her into silence – only for her to scream again as a shadow floated up to hover directly outside of her porthole.  Her screams died in her throat as the darkness began to seep through the crack surrounding the window and she felt a sudden chill in the air.  The shadow coalesced into a man-shaped form and advanced, sending Darcy leaping to the bed, racing for the door, only to find it locked or stuck or oh my god why won’t it open –_

Only to wake up panting, shaking, sweating on the thin mattress and trying to orient herself in the dark.

_A dream.  It was just a dream.  You’re okay, Loki’s probably okay, everything is as okay as it’s going to get._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

The next morning finds Darcy bleary-eyed and foggy, cranky with a lack of sleep and aching from hours spent turning and tossing on the uncomfortable cot.  The bright morning rays stream in through the porthole, setting the opposite wall ablaze with a circle of light that feels (to her sleep-addled brain) almost as terrible as staring at the sun itself.

 _Ugh,_ she whines internally, flinging a forearm up over her eyes, _a girl can’t even get a decent night’s rest aboard this tub._

She rolls over onto her side, curling into a fetal position with her back to the sunlight, and attempts to relax, to let the gentle rolling of the ship lull her back into that blissful state of not-fully-asleep-but-not-quite-awake.

It’s no use, however, as images of the last night’s dreams echo through her mind.  That and the very real, very urgent need to use the toilet …

Minutes later, shuffling back into the room, she nearly trips on the messy pile of newspapers at the foot of the bed.  Not knowing quite what to do with them, she’d shoved them back into a loose stack between the footboard and the door to the bathroom.  Now, after nearly spraining an ankle on the slick pile, she gives them a swift kick, sending them in every direction across the floor.

_Stupid freaking papers, stupid freaking Loki, stupid freaking everything._

Grumbling, Darcy skirts the mess and sits down on the bed.  She has no idea what time it is – the clocks on the iPad and laptop stopped being correct several time zones ago – and no idea when (or if) Loki and her breakfast might arrive. 

_Four days.  This is the fourth day that I’ve been here, and he said eight days until we get to Iceland._

She sulks.

_I’ve never been to Iceland, and for my first trip I’m probably going to wind up trapped in some crappy freezing shack somewhere …_

Casting an empty gaze at the newspapers on the floor, she spots one featuring a giant picture of Loki – looking both threatening and majestic in his full armor and helm – facing her.  She knew exactly when it had been taken, she’d watched that bit of film looped endlessly on CNN.  For one furious second she loses it, can’t stand to see his stupid face – 

 _Smug asshole!_  

Petulantly, she kicks at the papers again, the section with Loki’s photo ruffling in the air as it sails toward the far wall.  It falls to the ground, fanning out on the floor, as she flings herself back on the cot with a huff.  A flash of white catches in the corner of her vision.

_What the –_

A small square of pristine white paper lies on the floor, having slipped out from between the newspaper’s folds.  Curious, Darcy pads over on bare feet – skirting the scattered mess – and picks it up.

It turns out to be a sheet of Madison House stationery with what looks to be a hasty scrawl of oddly punctuated numbers just beneath the hotel’s logo.  She studies the slip for a few minutes, not recognizing either the handwriting or the content, although the numbers do look vaguely familiar.

_Huh, weird._

Staring at it for a few minutes doesn’t seem to resolve the mystery.

_Well, it can’t hurt to hang on to this … at least until I figure out what it is and where it came from._

She folds the piece of paper into a small square and shoves it into her pocket.

_Back to staring at the walls … fabulous. _

 

*             *             *             *             *

By evening there’s no sign of Loki.  To say that Darcy is worried would be an understatement – she worked herself up to a state of blind panic just after lunchtime came and went.  She’s changed clothes twice out of sheer boredom, worked her way through almost all of the Madison House snacks, and is currently pacing back and forth in front of the cabin door, debating whether to embark on a reconnaissance mission.

_He said not to leave the room, and this time he’s probably right.  This isn’t a five-star hotel, this is a ship crawling with criminals – and worse._

(She’s pretty sure that sex-starved sailors might qualify as ‘worse’).

_Still – if Loki doesn’t come back, I have to have an escape route, right?_

‘Escape’ means finding a way off the ship.  Now, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, she’s not sure that exit routes are going to be clearly marked.  Not to mention that the only door she knows about is far, far below her – down that rickety open staircase …

She shudders.

_Forget it._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

The sun has long since set and Darcy is sitting on the floor, in the dark, slashing away at strawberries and watermelons on her iPad.  She’s fashioned a light shield out of the discarded newspapers so that anyone looking at her porthole won’t see the flickering lights of the screen.  Her stomach rumbles for the umpteenth time and she thinks that maybe playing a game based on food isn’t such a great idea.  She has the momentary urge to fling the tablet at the wall, but fortunately common sense prevails and she decides to shut it down for the evening.  Just as she closes the game she sees it.

A flicker.

The wireless icon blinks on the top edge of the iPad and then disappears.  Before she can fully process it in her mind, her reflexes have pushed her to her feet and she’s holding the tablet out like a dowsing rod, searching for a connection.

_Oh my god, there’s wifi?!  Where is it?_

High and low, she searches the room to no avail, becoming more and more frustrated with each passing minute. 

_It was here!  It was here just a second ago!  Where are you, you sneaky little frequency?_

The iPad remains maddeningly static until she returns to her original spot against the wall.  Then, again, the tiniest flicker – just one bar, and only for a second.

_One bar.  I’ll take one bar.  Where is it coming from?_

Throwing caution to the wind, Darcy slips on her shoes and listens at the door for any sounds emanating from the hallway.  Hearing nothing, she slowly, painstakingly unlocks the door and turns the knob.  Opening the door just a crack, she peeks out into the dimly lit hall.

Holding her breath, she slips out the door and silently closes it behind her.  Her cabin is the furthest one portside, and now that she’s facing the stern the hallway stretches off to the left.  All doors are closed and it’s completely silent except for the rumble and hum of the ship’s engines.

Pulling the iPad close to her face, she presses the wireless logo and waits for the networking page to come up.  Once it does, she waves it around and scans for wifi again.

Pressing her back against the wall, she takes one silent sidestep to the left and checks again.

Another step.

Another flicker, this time lasting for almost a minute.  Darcy hurriedly presses the network icon, not recognizing the name of the network, but praying that it’s unsecured.  The clock spins for a second and then disconnects as the network disappears again.

Muffling a curse, she steps another few feet down the hallway, realizing that she’s moving dangerously far away from her cabin – too far, in fact, to escape if somebody should come up the stairs.  However, the hallway is still silent and she’s on a mission now, a mission to connect to the outside world.

She checks the tablet again – still nothing.

A few more steps and she’s approaching the stairwell.  She can hear a muffled echo of voices from far below, too far to make anything out.  It’s almost enough to send her scurrying for the safety of her room, but – her heart pounding – she continues on.

Another flicker of the wireless icon has her dashing silently past the open stairwell and further down the darkened passageway in desperation.  Three more steps and she’s got it – she has a connection.  A weak one, but it’s a connection nonetheless and she’s about to cry out of sheer joy.

The network pops up, a jumble of letters and numbers that she doesn’t recognize but it doesn’t even matter because this is the best thing to happen in days. 

_Weeks, even._

And, as the icing on the cake, the cherry on the top of the sundae, the connection isn’t secured.  It’s open wireless, _because of course who needs to lock down a network in the middle of the freaking ocean_ , and looking at the Google homepage is like seeing a long-lost best friend for the first time in twenty years.

But of course she’s in the middle of the hallway, and as far gone as she is at the prospect of actual, honest-to-god internet access, Darcy’s still got a smidgen of self-preservation left in her body.  Which means that she’s not about to sit on the floor and surf the web right here where anyone – soldiers or criminals or megalomaniacal space aliens – can just happen across her, oh no.

_But the router’s around here somewhere, not at my end of the hallway, so …_

Naturally, she begins listening at doors, hoping against hope that there’s an unoccupied, unlocked cabin around here someplace.  Unfortunately, she can’t hear a thing except the steady, metallic vibration of the engines reverberating through the walls, making it impossible to get a read on any sounds inside the other rooms. 

Randomly opening doors doesn’t seem like a good idea either.

_Now what?_

Letting out an exhaled breath – one that she didn’t even realize that she was holding – she scans the hallway again.  Here in the middle of the ship, the doors aren’t evenly spaced – some are closer to each other and some are further apart, almost like doors in a hotel corridor, except that these aren’t numbered or labeled in any way. 

She tiptoes a little further, counting the doors as she walks past.  She’s six past the stairwell when the wireless flickers out again.

_Okay, the router must be back this way._

Turning, she freezes when she hears the unmistakable sound of a voice from behind one of the doors.  It’s the one just past where the wireless cut out, closer to the far stairwell.  The hallway is still dim and deserted, so Darcy decides to push her luck and listen at the door.  Pressing her ear against the cold metal, she hears it again – the steady rumble of a male voice, one that sounds … oddly familiar.  Listening again, recognition dawns suddenly and before she’s even had a chance to think it through, she reaches for the door handle.  Unlocked, the door swings open and she’s face-to-face with an equally shocked –

“Erik?”

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

At first, back in Puente Antiguo, Darcy had thought that Jane’s mentor was a grade-A _jerkface_.  And he totally was, alternately making snide comments about Darcy’s education and demeanor or just generally ignoring her contributions to Jane’s research.  Over time, though, he seemed to thaw out.

 _No man can withstand the awesome_ , Darcy had thought with a smirk.  Then Thor happened, and SHIELD happened, and Darcy had her first brush with ‘jack-booted thugs’, who in her mind took over the entire _category_ of ‘grade-A jerkfaces’ and held that distinction to this day.  Despite her firm policy of letting bygones be bygones, she figured that what with creepy Agent Pierce and the whole rendition thing, she wouldn’t exactly be forgiving or forgetting anyone who worked for SHIELD anytime soon.

None of which, of course, had anything to do with Erik.  Here and now, he’s surely forgiven, and especially because he’s currently not looking very well, unshaven and unsteady on his feet in the middle of another tiny bare cabin on a commandeered container ship bound for Iceland.

_Which, you know, being right next to his homeland and all, should be kind of comforting.  But still, he kind of does look like hell._

“Erik?  Dr. Selvig?  What are you doing here?  Where’s Jane?”

Erik looks at her, confused.  “Excuse me, miss … ?”

Darcy sighs and closes the door behind her.  The last thing she needs are any of the aforementioned jack-booted thugs interrupting this reunion.

“Erik, it’s me, Darcy.  You know, Jane’s Darcy?”  Suppressing an urge to grab him, she instead places a hand on his arm.  “Are you okay?  Do you know where you are?”

He looks more tired than anything else, not especially ill or gaunt – much better than Jane had looked back in the subway tunnels of New York.  Still, Darcy noted, his eyes were a little sunken, but if they were a touch bluer than she remembered she couldn’t really tell.

“Erik, did Loki put you here?”

He perks right up at the mention of Loki.

“Ah, Loki?  Is he with you?”  Erik cranes his neck as if to look into the hallway, but Darcy steps between him and the door. 

“No, he’s away for now.  Are you looking for him?”

“Well, of course, it’s been so long since we’ve been able to meet.  I have much to tell him, much to show him.  We’ve made great progress with the Tesseract, and Jane – ”

“Jane?” Darcy interrupts. “Is Jane with you?”

“Well, yes, although she’s still downstairs.  She won’t leave, you know, not until she figures out the phased polarity sequence – ”

“Erik.” She grabs onto his arm.  “Where is she?  Do you know if she’s eaten?  Slept?”

He laughs, a dry chuckle, and pats Darcy’s hand in a fatherly manner.  “Oh, my dear, you know our Jane – she won’t rest until she’s solved the puzzle, just like any of the greatest scientists of the past.”  His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper.  “You mustn’t tell her that I said so, of course, but I do believe that our dear Dr. Foster is quite the genius.”  His smile is real, his eyes kind, but Darcy is convinced that he still doesn’t recognize her.

_Well, shit._

She looks around the small cabin, identical to her own except for the lack of creature comforts.  Instead, there are papers heaped on the tiny table in the corner and taped randomly to the walls.  She can see equations, drawings, graphs – none of which make any bit of sense to her.  So she tries again, attempting to appeal to his academic side.

“Dr. Selvig, I need to find Dr. Foster.  Can you help me?”

He seems confused by her sudden shift in tone but recovers.  “Ah, yes, but as I just told you – Dr. Foster is currently at work and cannot be disturbed.”

“Oh, but it’s important,” Darcy hedges.  “You see, she needs me to help her collate the data, and I haven’t been able to find her.  You know how she gets when she’s kept waiting …”

He chuckles.  “Yes, yes.  She is … how shall I put it?  A bit feisty sometimes.  Still, that’s a good trait to have when dealing with other scientists.”  He looks down at her with his blue, blue eyes, clearly trying to decide whether to lead her to Jane.  “Now, how did you say that you will help her again?”

“Um, don’t you remember?  I’m her assistant, Darcy.  You know, from Puente Antiguo?  When we discovered the Einstein-Rosen Bridge?”  She flashes him a bright grin.  “I’m supposed to input the data and run the scenarios.  You know that she doesn’t need to be doing her own data entry – if I can get to her, she can do the important work that much faster.  Unless you think that she can handle it all by herself?”

“Well,” he hedges, “She’s one of my most independent-minded students that I’ve ever had the privilege to tutor.  As I said, she does not want to be disturbed.”

Frustrated, she suddenly remembers how he had perked up at the sound of Loki’s name.  “Oh, that’s too bad.  You see, Loki asked me to look after her.  I guess that I’ll just have to find her myself.  You stay here, okay?”

It’s that last bit that seems to appeal to him.  “Oh, no, my dear – it wouldn’t do to have you wandering about the ship.  If Loki asked … well … there are many dangerous men around these parts.  I’ll take you there.”

 _Attaboy_ , she mutters under his breath as he looks for his shoes.  _I knew that I could count on you._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

They set off from the super-secret guest floor and begin heading down the far stairwell.  Erik seems to know where he is going and takes off rather quickly, leading her down stairs and through hallways, up and down and sideways until she can’t – for the life of her – figure out where or how to find her way back to her own secluded room.  It’s not until now that she truly appreciates the extent to which Loki has protected her – and she feels even worse about their last words to each other.

_But … he started this.  All of it.  You’re not the one in the wrong._

Shrugging off the voice of reason, Darcy focuses entirely on Erik’s back as he races off to destinations unknown.  It’s all she can do to keep up with him, and she can’t remember if he ever moved this fast in all of the (little) time that she’s actually spent with him. 

Around them, the ship is eerily silent, almost deserted.  Darcy isn’t sure what she expected – bustling criminal activity, henchmen marching in Bond-villain formation, or what – but the absolute silence outside of the engines is almost unnerving.

Thinking of her last encounter with one of Loki’s army, she shudders and moves a little closer to Erik, resisting the urge – barely – to hang on to the edge of his sweater like a kindergartener. 

“Dr. Selvig?”  Darcy blurts out.  “How much further is it?  We must be halfway across the ship by now.  And how come we haven’t seen anyone else yet?  Doesn’t Loki have other people aboard?”

He slows and turns to her, placing a finger to his lips in the classic ‘shush’ gesture.  “It’s her, she helps me avoid the soldiers.  Quiet now, it’s just up ahead.  We must move quickly.”

_Her?  Jane?_

He veers off through a gaping dark doorway into what must be a section of the cargo hold.  Here, the sound of the engines is much louder, and she has to strain her ears to pick up what Erik is saying.

“Just a little further now.  Dr. Foster is in the office.”

Except that there doesn’t seem to be any offices, just blank dark walls and cargo containers.  He slips down a passageway between two containers and without thinking, she follows.

“Erik, are you sure – ?”  She comes to an abrupt halt as he stops in front of one of the containers.  The door is slightly ajar and light streams out of the opening.  Looking down, she sees extension cords leading out of the box and running every which way.  She’s so intent on figuring out where they are and what this setup is supposed to mean that she doesn’t notice Erik stepping through the open doorway.  The sound of voices – Jane’s voice – snaps her to attention, and she shoves her way into the container-slash-office that has been set up in the very bottom of the cargo hold.

“Jane!”  Darcy isn’t far gone enough to shout, but instead calls for her scientist in a very loud whisper.  She wrenches the heavy door open just that much further, and as her eyes adjust to the suddenly bright light she can see Jane’s slight frame silhouetted against a bank of computer monitors.  “Jane, are you okay?”

“Darcy?”

Unlike their previous encounter of just a few days ago, Jane is clearly the worse for wear.  Where she looked pretty lousy last week Darcy now suspects that she is skirting the edge of total collapse. 

“Holy shit, Jane, you’ve gotta lay down.”

“No, no, I’m so close.  The data – ”  Jane weakly waves at the screen, her normally slender arm and dainty hand looking positively skeletal as she does so.

“Screw the data!  You look like you’re gonna die, girlfriend, and that’s so not going to happen on my watch.”  Darcy bustles closer to the desk and reaches for Jane, who ducks away from her outstretched arms.

“No, Darcy, you can’t stop me, I have to finish this, it’s so important!”

“Darcy,” Erik interrupts, “You told me that Loki wanted you to help.  Surely you must know that this isn’t the way – ”

“Erik, come on, just look at her!  She’s sick, she needs help.  Food and sleep, for sure, not just data entry.  You can’t think – ”

“Darcy, you can’t stop this!  It’s too important!”  Jane swivels her chair back towards the screen.  “Erik, you have to make her understand – ”

“Understand what?  That you have a death wish?”

“Exactly the opposite, Darcy.”  Erik lays a hand on her shoulder.  “Don’t you see?  This is the only way – ”

“No, I don’t see,” Darcy snaps.  “Look, you both are sick or brainwashed or something.  I mean, just look at you!”  She gestures at Jane.  “She looks like death, you look like you’re possessed.  What happened to you?  You’re both smart people, yes, without a lick of common sense most of the time, but this is extreme, even for you!”  She reaches for Jane again, who ducks away from her arms, again.

“Darcy, stop!” Jane shrieks and swats at her ineffectually. 

Erik, losing all patience, steps up behind Darcy and effectively puts her in a bear hug.   “This is ridiculous.  You must stop this at once.  I never should have brought you down here – ”

“You’re damn straight about one thing, Erik!” Darcy struggles to release herself from his grip.  “This is absolutely ridiculous, you guys are acting like idiots.”  She elbows his stomach and rams her hips against his legs.  “Let. Me. GO!”  With one well-timed shove, she bursts free of his arms.  The force knocks her forward into Jane, who in turn slips out of the rolling chair on which she was perched, causing Jane to whack her head against the desk on the way down.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit!” Darcy yells and slips down to her knees, scooping the now-unconscious Jane into her arms.  “Jane, come on, sweetie, please be okay.”

Erik, meanwhile, sent stumbling backwards by the strength of Darcy’s push, falls backwards against the open door and stumbles right into the grip of

… Loki.

“What is the meaning of this?”  He hisses at Erik.  He cranes his neck and looks into the open container.  Spotting Darcy, with Jane in her arms, his expression darkens.

“Oh, that’s my line,” seethes Darcy, at _least_ twelve degrees of furious about this whole situation herself.

Loki turns to the uniformed grunt beside him.  “You, check the perimeter.”  He turns to face Erik.  “You, get back to work.”  Without turning to face Darcy, he begins “and as for you,”

“ … oh HELL no,” she interjects, seething.  “Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to, but you can’t just treat people like disposable objects.”  She looks down at Jane, who is beginning to moan and come to.  “Look at her, Loki!  Just look at her.”  Darcy nods at Erik.  “And him, and you.  All of you, looking like freaking zombies and acting weird.  This is crazy, this isn’t right, this is – ”

Jane coughs a little and opens her eyes, which are oddly enough back to their normal brown.  “Wha … ?”  She spots Loki and her whole body tenses.

“No!” she shouts feebly and begins to struggle against Darcy’s hold, trying to distance herself from Loki.

He, in turn, mutters something under his breath.  With a single gesture, he pulls the scepter from nowhere and begins to move menacingly towards the pair.  Jane lets out a terrified whimper and curls instinctively into Darcy’s embrace.

“Back off,” Darcy snarls at Loki.  “She’s sick, can’t you see that?”

“Step aside, Darcy.”  His voice is grim, foreboding, which only serves to make Darcy stand her ground. 

Pushing Jane behind her, she stands up and faces Loki.  “Look – you’re going to have to go through me to get to her.”  Her chin up and eyes blazing, she stares at him without flinching.  “Go ahead, do it.  You’ve been dying to use that thing on me for days now.  Admit it.”  At his hesitation, she steps forward.  “Do it, Loki.  Either do it or let Jane rest.”  She can see the indecision in his eyes – but can’t let him past her, can’t let him zap Jane again.  So she presses onward.

“Look, I don’t know what you have her doing, or what’s so important down here, but you have to let her get some sleep.”  She gestures to Erik.  “He can pick up where she left off, and I’ll help, but you can’t keep pushing Jane.  She’s going to die if you keep this up.”

He lets out a frustrated groan and loosens his death-grip on his scepter.  “You vex me, Darcy Lewis, at every turn, and yet I find that I cannot bend you to my will.”  At that he steps back, outside the container, and gives Erik a shove that sends him stumbling back inside.

“You may very well live to regret your choice,” he says, and the last thing she sees before he closes the door to the cargo container – locking her inside with Erik and Jane – is the oddly pensive expression on his face.

“Oh no,” Darcy shouts, leaping for the door as it latches from the outside.  “No no no no NO!”  Finding it firmly closed, she begins to pound on the metal.  “You can’t just lock us in here like this!”  Getting no response, she rattles the door.  “Hey!  Get back here!  Jane needs help, do you understand me?”

 _Aw, really?_  She pleads internally as she pushes and pulls the door in a futile attempt to open it. 

“Loki, come ON!  This isn’t funny!  I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’d better believe that I’ll find out!”

Silence is her only response.

Just for drama, she pounds and kicks a few more times.  “You douchebag!  You rotten moldy apple core!  You … you _expired coupon_!”

“Oh, fucking hell,” she sighs after one last kick, turning around to face a stricken Jane and shocked Erik.  “What?  You’re surprised?” 

“I … I don’t even know what to say,” stutters Erik, as Jane, exhausted, collapses into the nearest chair.  “This is a setback of monumental proportions.  I just hope that you haven’t ruined everything.”

Darcy snorts.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Easy-E.  I’m beginning to think that ruining his plans is our only ticket out of this giant mess.” 

 

*             *             *             *             *


	11. The Gray Hats

After one last kick at the door, Darcy paces the perimeter of the shipping container in a futile search for alternate exits.  There are a few air vents near the roof and one makeshift hole in the side wall through which a thick bundle of cables run, ostensibly to power the banks of computers and other scientific equipment.  Other than that – it’s yet another trap.

_A cell_ , she muses, _and funnily enough I’m right where Loki wanted me ten days ago – locked up with Jane and Erik._

_But at least this way I’m not a zombie._

Turning to the scientists, she pastes on a bright smile.

“Well, no point in trying to break out, I guess.  So … what have you been up to?”

Her question is genuine but not met with much enthusiasm.  Erik makes a gruff noise and slumps into the nearest chair.  Jane isn’t looking very well, pale and tragic and wobbling in place.

“Jane, sweetie, you’re going to fall over.”  Darcy scuttles over to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.  “Come on, let’s get you settled over here where it’s warmer, okay?”  She leads the astrophysicist to the corner behind the servers and props her against the wall.  “You hit your head pretty hard on the way down.  I hope that you don’t have a concussion.”

“I’m fine, fine,” Jane protests weakly, trying to pull away from Darcy’s hand on her forehead.  “I don’t recognize this place.  Are we still in New York?”

Darcy barks out a laugh.  “You mean in the subway tunnels?  Oh, honey, no.”  She holds up three fingers in front of Jane’s face.  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jane looks exasperated, a sure sign that she’s tired, but okay.  “More than two but less than four.”

“Yep, you’re fine – you just need a good nap.  Here …”  Darcy peels off her cardigan and folds it into a neat little pillow.  “Just rest your eyes for a couple of minutes while I try to talk to Erik, okay?  I’ll come back and check on you in a few.”  She guides Jane down gently – with only a token struggle – and helps her get as comfortable as possible on the hard floor.  Just as Darcy expected, Jane is out like a light within minutes and Darcy’s left with only a very likely brainwashed Erik Selvig for company.

_Great – he can barely stand me on his best day._

Erik didn’t have much patience for non-scientist Darcy, but tolerated her when Jane was around.  Now that she’d angered Loki, she doubts very much that his opinion of her has changed.  Still, he’s her best option (for now).

“Erik?”

No response, as expected.

“Dr. Selvig?  Is there anything that I can help you with?”

He laughs, bitterly.  “I think that you’ve done enough damage for now.”

“That’s not exactly fair, you know.  How was I to know that Loki would lock us in here?”  Darcy was only partially indignant, as she wasn’t entirely surprised at the mercurial alien’s actions.

Erik barely spares her a derisive glance before turning to the nearest computer screen, which is displaying a video image of the shiny blue cube suspended in (what looks like) another shipping container.

“What is that thing?”  Darcy asks.  “You were working on it before, right?  In the tunnels?”

“Yes, yes,” Erik replies.  “It is the Tesseract – a gateway into space.”

“A gateway?  Like Jane’s Einstein rainbow bridge?”

“Einstein-Rosen Bridge, and no – this is something far beyond our limited understanding of space-time physics.  The Tesseract is the most advanced bit of technology we’ve ever seen, something eons beyond what even the scientists on Thor’s world are capable of.”

“Oh.”  Darcy supposes that she should be impressed.  “So how did it end up here?  I mean, on Earth?”

Erik shrugs.  “However it came to be here, it’s magic and science rolled up into one.”

“Whoa there, dude, that sounds awfully … well, not-scientific coming from you.  I didn’t think that you believed in that hocus-pocus stuff, am I right?”

“Hmm,” he replies.  “It’s difficult to be a non-believer when I have witnessed the magic for myself.”

“How so?”

He gestures to the image of the cube.  “Loki used it as a means of transportation, moving himself across galaxies from who-knows-where to the SHIELD facility in New Mexico.  I was there, Darcy, I saw him appear with my own two eyes.  And then New York – we opened a wormhole to another realm … let the Chitauri in …”  He goes quiet then, troubled.

“Huh.  Well …” and Darcy doesn’t know what to say to that, she really doesn’t, so she pats him awkwardly on the shoulder.  “I mean, I guess that you didn’t know what you were doing.  It’s not entirely your fault.” 

_Lamest consolation attempt **ever** …_

He looks up at her, eyes sunken and haunted.  “Still, we have to unlock its secrets.  There has to be a way to control it, or influence it in some way.  After all – as a very wise man said to me recently, ‘doors open from both sides’.”

Darcy looks at the screen, at the glowing blue object that has created havoc across the globe, that has caused thousands of deaths, has made people and aliens crazy to possess it.

She doesn’t get it.

“Well, Erik … that is an awfully profound saying.  But I hate to break it to you – it’s a cube, not a door.  It has six sides.”

He stares at her for a long moment, gobsmacked.

“Darcy – I – you – perhaps – ” and he turns away from her then, grabbing pen and paper and beginning to scribble furiously.

“Huh,” she says, but Erik is already deep into SCIENCE mode and has tuned her out completely.  “I don’t think that I’m ever going to get used to that.” 

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Now that Jane is sleeping and Erik is occupied Darcy can finally fully assess the situation.  As she determined before, there is no easy way out of their little cell – unless she suddenly develops laser vision and could cut their way out of a double-steel-walled reinforced shipping container. 

_No bathroom, either._

She tries not to think about that important fact as she moves through the long and narrow space to check on Jane, who is now sleeping soundly.

_I hope that she doesn’t have a concussion, for real – I doubt that the “how many fingers” test is a sure thing.  Still, there’s no first aid available down here.  I’ll just have to keep an eye on her and hope for the best._

To tell the truth, at this point Darcy is kind of over hoping for the best.  This whole time, she’s been giving Loki the benefit of the doubt, and look where it’s led her.

_Trading one prison for another._

The interior of the shipping container is a lab of sorts, which in and of itself is not at all interesting to Darcy – she’s spent enough time in Jane’s makeshift labs to be pretty blasé about the whole thing.  No, the interesting part is the equipment – shiny and top of the line, most of it – and the number of computers packed into the eight by twenty-foot unit.  Apart from the main bank, where Erik has set up shop, Darcy counts two more desks with multiple networked units and then the rack of servers behind which she put Jane buzzing busily in the back.

Whatever the two scientists are up to, they’re using some serious computing power.

And the computers are all on, lights blinking and fans whirring.  With the doors closed, the heat generated by so many units is making the container downright cozy, which is actually quite welcome.  They’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean in May and she’s found the ship to be rather chilly.  After sacrificing her sweater to ensure Jane’s comfort, Darcy is 100% on board with some processor-induced heat, thank you very much.

Glancing over at Erik – or, well, the computers in front of Erik – she can tell that some sort of modeling calculation is running.  On the screens are depicted the Tesseract overlaid with windows scrolling type faster than she can read.  The computers that she’s sitting near have Jane’s spreadsheets open, ready for data entry, with legal pads covered with Jane’s chicken-scratch handwriting nearby.

_No comforts of home, that’s for sure._

Unless …

Taking a seat in the unoccupied desk chair, she wiggles the computer mouse and Jane’s spreadsheets disappear.  This machine isn’t even password protected – and yes, there’s a little browser shortcut in the corner.

Darcy clicks on it and holds her breath …

_Paydirt._

Stifling a yelp of victory, she instead does a happy chair dance as the Google homepage pops up.  She’s pretty certain that satellite internet is pretty damn expensive, but she’s sure as hell not going to complain. 

Her first instinct is to pop open Gmail and let her family know that she is (relatively) safe; but, remembering the cell phone misadventure she realizes that SHIELD would be onto her in a flash. 

_How freaking sad is that – I feel safer with Loki than I do with my own government_.

Suppressing a snort, she instead begins searching for news of the invasion and any hint of whether the various (and nefarious) governmental agencies have any inkling of their current location.  US news sources are still reporting on the events of New York, where apparently the Avengers and the military are making headway against the Chitauri.  International news outlets are reporting about the alien ‘peacekeepers’ and lamenting the fact that various factions were taking advantage of the chaos to further their chosen agendas.  Still, everything she reads seems focused on the Chitauri – very few headlines have to do with Loki, and even fewer still appear to be interested in what he is doing now.  None of those even speculate about Iceland as a possible home base of operations, which means that he's still very much under the radar.

_I know that they’re only concerned with the 24-hour news cycle, but this is ridiculous.  Nobody’s focused on the bigger picture?_

Darcy spins in her chair and sighs.  _What is the bigger picture?  What is Loki’s grand plan?_

_Whatever it is, it’s centered around that Tesseract._

She glances over at Erik, who is muttering to himself as he relentlessly scribbles away on reams of paper.

_So if Erik and Jane trying to crack its code, that means that Loki wants to use the Tesseract for something that it doesn’t normally do, right?  And Erik says that it’s a door.  So he doesn’t want to go anywhere, or bring anything here.  Or does he?  Would be just like him to misdirect everybody._

She mulls it over for a few minutes, then turns her attention back to the news.

_There’s got to be a clue in here somewhere, but where?_

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

What seems like six hours later – but is actually only two – Darcy pushes back from the monitor and rubs her eyes.

_Okay, maybe I won’t find anything in the news after all.  Time for Plan B.  Which is … what, exactly?_

Glancing around the container, she realizes that they are well and truly screwed – Jane will be sleeping and Erik will be working and she will be bouncing off the walls until Loki decides to have mercy on their souls and bring dinner or a ( _don’t think about it_ ) bathroom break.  Until then, she just has herself for company _._

Now that the day has grown longer in the tooth, the cold has begun to outweigh the heat from the computers.  Darcy’s beginning to shiver, but rather than claim her sweater back from Jane, she drapes it over the scientist instead.  Moving back to her workstation, she shoves her hands in her pockets for the slightest bit of warmth – only to find something unexpected.  She pulls out the odd sheet of hotel stationery that she’d stuffed there long hours before.

_Meh.  NO idea what this is supposed to be.  Just somebody else’s trash, I guess._

She crumples up the piece of paper and its odd contents, but then stops herself before tossing it into the nearby trash can, which is overflowing with Erik’s scribbled out attempts at solving the mysteries of the universe anyway. 

She smooths the paper back out and stares at the odd numbers, something that she just can’t put a finger on pinging at the back of her brain.

_It’s not a phone number, it’s not GPS coordinates …_

Suddenly her senses kick in and she recognizes the pattern.

_It’s an IP address!_

There is an @ symbol and some extra numbers at the end, ones that she isn’t quite sure about, but it’s definitely an IP address nonetheless.  Pulling over the keyboard, she types it into the address bar on her browser and waits.  The screen flashes and then the browser begins downloading an extension.  Her first instinct is to hit the exit button, but it finishes before she can even react.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

17:35:48  Welcome to underIRC!

17:35:48  To get started, enter your suite number: /channel <my_suite>

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Suite number?  What the hell?_

Darcy has, by now, figured out that this is an Internet Relay Chat client … but where it’s running and just who is on the other side of the connection … she has no idea. 

Suffice it to say that she doesn’t think that SHIELD would run an IRC client, but then again –

_Ah, screw it.  What else do I have to lose?_

The only suite number she’s had recently (well, ever) is the one at Madison House.  She types it in and hopes for the best.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

17:37:30  /channel <303>

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(You have now joined the channel)

(You are now known as Suite303)

Suite303:             Hello?

MadMan:            Bon soir, mademoiselle.

Suite303:             ???

MadMan:            We have been waiting to hear from you.  Are you well?

Suite303:             Who is this?!?!

MadMan:            You do not remember me, mademoiselle?  I am heartbroken, to say the least.

Suite303:             Listen, you are really creeping me out.  I’m leaving.

MadMan:            No!  Wait.  We’ve really been waiting for you.  Our concierge is worried.

Suite303:             …

MadMan:            You know me.  I delivered your evening meal on several occasions. 

Suite303:             What the hell, man.  Are you the feds?  And what’s with this wacky setup?

MadMan:            Wacky?  You try running an encrypted anonymous IRC server with triple-factor authentication and we’ll talk wacky.

Suite303:             Okay, I’m sorry.  But why all the subterfuge?  And why did you let me in with no strings attached?  No password, no retinal scan, just a browser download?

MadMan:            The ip address is just for you.  This channel is just for you.  And we’re interested.

Suite303:             Who’s “we”?  And interested in what?

MadMan:            Well, as I said, our concierge is interested in your well-being.  She thinks that you’ve been kidnapped by sex slavers.  But you wouldn’t be online if that were the case.

Suite303:             No, no sex slavers.  Tell Bhavya that I’m okay.

MadMan:            No names, please.  And no, we’re not the feds.  Far from it.

Suite303:             …

MadMan:            We’re interested in what the feds are doing.  And we share a mutual interest: you.

Suite303:             Great.

MadMan:            Why are the feds interested in you?

Suite303:             What, now you’re going to interrogate me too?

MadMan:            You’ve been interrogated?  Who was it – FBI? CIA? NSA?

Suite303:             …

MadMan:            We can’t help you if we don’t know what we’re up against.

Suite303:             Okay, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you work in a hotel, you could not possibly go up against the feds and think that you’re going to win.

MadMan:            You would be surprised at what we can do.

Suite303:             And what’s with the “we”?  You and the other hotel staff?

MadMan:            No, my circle is wider than that.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy sits back in her chair for a moment, stumped.  The _freaking room service waiter at the Madison House_ has somehow set up a private, encrypted IRC server just for her.  He keeps saying “we”.  They had joked about him being a spy, and yet …

_Oh.  Oh. OMFG, he’s in the Tinfoil Hat Brigade.  The worldwide hacking network known as The Collective._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             You’re the Collective, aren’t you.

MadMan:            Very good. 

Suite303:             Why would you be interested in me?

MadMan:            You’re a very interesting young lady.

Suite303:             Eww, don’t make this any creepier than it already is, dude.

MadMan:            Sorry – that didn’t translate properly. 

MadMan:            Several reasons:

MadMan:            We don’t often have twenty-somethings staying solo in our suites, especially not ones who bring no luggage or personal effects with them.

MadMan:            Our concierge was very suspicious of your mysterious benefactor, having only dealt with him over the phone.

MadMan:            You disappeared from your room with no word and no appearance on any of the hotel’s security cameras, although your bill was paid in full.

MadMan:            And, as I said, certain branches of the government are searching for you.  One in particular – they have your family and friends under surveillance.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy sighs.  Well, that answers a lot of my questions.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             Ok, fair enough.  But what do you want to know?

MadMan:            First, we want to know that you are safe.

Suite303:             Yes.  Well, I mean, you know.  But yes.  I am safe.

MadMan:            Are you being monitored?

Suite303:             Yes and no?  I mean, nobody here seems to know their way around the internet but me.

MadMan:            Yes, your deflection skills are quite extraordinary – we are sure that you are in a well-hidden location.  Right now it looks as though you are on a satellite link from somewhere in the North Atlantic.  You’ll have to share your VPN details with us.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Oh, crap.  I didn’t have time to think about using a VPN!  Next time I’ll have to get an anonymous client, make it look like I’m connecting from Malaysia or wherever._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             Yeah well, I’m not exactly a n00b you know.

MadMan:            Good, that will make things much easier.

Suite303:             Still, what does The Collective want with me?

MadMan:            We’re trying to figure out what SHIELD is up to.

Suite303:             Harassing me, for starters.

MadMan:            But why?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Umm … yeah, I’m not going to spill the beans on Thor and Loki, not yet anyway.  For all I know this could be those creepy SHIELD agents in disguise._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             Mistaken identity, I think.  They grabbed me and threatened to drug me.  I managed to get free and go underground.

MadMan:            …

Suite303:             Seriously, dude, they renditioned me from my parents’ front porch.  Like I’m a threat to national security or something.

MadMan:            Are you?

Suite303:             NO!  I mean, not that I know of.

MadMan:            So then why would SHIELD be after you?

Suite303:             Because they’re jack-booted thugs, that’s why.  Listen, I’m just a girl trying to save the world, that’s all.

MadMan:            Save the world.

Suite303:             I guess.

MadMan:            From the aliens?

Suite303:             … maybe?

MadMan:            Do you truly believe that aliens are trying to take over the planet?  That they’ve destroyed large sections of New York City and are currently deployed all over the globe?

Suite303:             … yes?

MadMan:            Have you ever heard of the World Security Council?

Suite303:             No, I can’t say that I have.

MadMan:            They’re a shadowy quasi-governmental organization.  Representatives of the G7 nations and other high-ranking world leaders who meet in secrecy to determine global policy, shape political agendas, respond to threats.  We have reason to believe that this group is deliberately planting the news of an alien attack to centralize and solidify their power over any single governmental agency. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy is somewhat stunned.

_He really is part of the Tinfoil Hat Brigade._

Still … up until a few months ago she wouldn’t have believed in aliens, much less hung out with them.  Or, you know, almost been killed by one.  And the possible existence of a “World Security Council” has her intrigued (and more than a little worried).

_So many things wrong with that … I have to know more._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             What if the aliens are real?  And they’re actually here?  That still doesn’t justify the existence of such a Council, don’t you think?

MadMan:            …

Suite303:             Let’s just say that I have some first-hand, rather painful, evidence that the attack on New York truly did happen. 

MadMan:            Don’t tell me that you are involved with this.

Suite303:             Haha, not a chance.  But I did get attacked by one of those _things_ , for real.

MadMan:            Sorry, don’t believe you.

Suite303:             Hey, if I had a way to send you a picture, you could see the lizard-shaped alien paw bruise on my neck.

MadMan:            Photoshop.

Suite303:             Listen, I’m lucky that I have internet.  No Photoshop where I am.  Besides, I know that you can check photos for tampering.

MadMan:            Still don’t believe you.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She huffs.

_Well, two can play that game._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             It’s not any crazier than the thought of some shadowy Council.  Take the tinfoil hat off, and listen to yourself, will you?

MadMan:            …

MadMan:            …

MadMan:            Touché.

Suite303:             Look, I’ll believe in your outlandish theories if you believe in mine, okay?  Maybe there are both aliens and overreaching quasi-governmental agencies, no matter how fishy they both sound.  Let’s just accept some things at face value and go from there.

MadMan:            Fair enough.

Suite303:             The question is … what are the angles?  I haven’t been able to find out anything about the meaning behind the alien attack.  Have you?

MadMan:            You already know about our theory, that the whole thing is a ploy.

Suite303:             But what if it isn’t?

MadMan:            That … changes the game, but only slightly. 

Suite303:             How could they use this attack to their advantage?

MadMan:            Consolidation of power.

Suite303:             Exactly.  And with the fact that nobody in the news has asked these questions –

MadMan:            Or if they have, they’ve been silenced.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Oh.  Oh of course.  That has to be it – is SHIELD playing both ends against the middle?_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             Things are suddenly making a whole lot more sense.

MadMan:            Now who’s wearing the tinfoil hat?

Suite303:             SHUT UP

MadMan:            So the question remains, where are you? 

Suite303:             I’m actually taking care of my employer.  She’s had an accident and needs someone to watch over her.  As for where we are, let’s just say that it’s better for both of us if nobody – especially a certain government agency -- finds out.

MadMan:            As long as you’re safe.

Suite303:             You too.

MadMan:            Thanks.

Suite303:             I wish that there was some way that I could let my family know that I was safe.  They must be worried sick.

MadMan:            They’re under pretty thorough surveillance.  I wouldn’t even risk it.

Suite303:             There has to be a way.  I just haven’t figured it out yet.

MadMan:            Just don’t do anything reckless.

Suite303:             Trust me, I won’t.  But I do feel helpless – like, what now?

MadMan:            Watch, plan, wait for the opportunity to act.

Suite303:             Is that what you do?  And I’m using the royal “you” here.

MadMan:            Mostly.

Suite303:             So what now? 

MadMan:            I’ll have to burn this channel.

Suite303:             How do I contact you again?

MadMan:            Again – watch, plan, wait for the opportunity.

Suite303:             That’s … not helpful.

MadMan:            That’s what I can offer you right now.  We’re flirting with danger as we speak.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thinking of Loki and his near-daily temper tantrums, Darcy grimaces.

_Tell me about it._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Suite303:             Okay, I’ll keep my eye on the sky for a sign.

MadMan:            Be safe.

Suite303:             You too, ok?

MadMan:            Thanks.  Signing off now.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

18:45:02  /channel <303> disconnected.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy sits back, drained. 

_Shadowy government ops behind shadowy government ops behind shadowy non-government ops.  I can’t keep track of the layers of bureaucracy here._

_I wonder if I should thank Loki for exposing them?  For opening my eyes?_

She stifles a derisive snort.  Closing the browser, she leans back in her chair and stretches.

_I guess I’ll need to make my own tinfoil hat now._

 

*             *             *             *             *

 

Some time later – she’s not really sure how long – Darcy opens her eyes.  The interior of the shipping container is dim and her neck is sore from being in an awkward position.  She shifts in the chair and aims for a half-formed stretch when she stops short at the sound of Loki’s voice.

“So you have awakened at last.”

Darcy squints into the darkness.  He’s seated in the chair where Erik was earlier; she can barely see the outline of his regal bearing against the glow of a single computer monitor.

She sits up quickly, ignoring the shooting pain in her neck and the pressure in her bladder.  “Where are they?”

Loki clicks his tongue.  “A fine greeting.  Especially to your benevolent ruler.”

“I’d go with jailer, actually.”

“Would you, now?”  She can’t see his face, backlit as it is, but a random sliver of light glints from his eyes.  She suppresses a shudder at the sudden menace in his voice.  “And to think that I have spent considerable time and resources attending to your comfort.”

“Comfort?”  She squawks, ignoring his tone.  “I totally disagree.  Being locked in a shipping container is hardly comfortable.”

Loki chuckles, the sound oddly chilling in comparison to the few times they’d laughed together.  “And whose fault is that, my dear Darcy?” 

Before she can object to his possessive, he waves a hand and every monitors spring to life, the sudden blinding glare causing her to squint.  He stands and she instinctively shrinks back, fearful.

“Hey, dude, chill out, okay?”  Her heart is racing and her voice comes out much higher than she’d care to admit.  “I’m sorry that I didn’t stay in my room.  You have to believe me, finding Erik was a total coincidence.”

He stops short at that, peering at her as though he could see into her very soul.  Eventually he smiles, his grin shark-like in its intensity.

“Not a lie but not the whole truth, Darcy.  Try again.”

_The truth_ , she thinks.  _The truth the truth the truth_ … and yet she wants, she needs, to keep some secrets.

“Internet,” she says plainly.  “I was looking for an internet connection, okay?  I wanted to see if I could reach my family and let them know that I was still alive.  Only that’s not going to work, because there’s no way that I can get in touch with them because they’re being watched by SHIELD, right?  So I went looking for internet and found Erik and he led me to Jane, which was better, but actually kind of worse because they’re both in terrible shape thanks to you.  I don’t know what you have been doing to them, but damn, Loki, Jane looks like she’s about to die.  Can’t you let them sleep?  Or eat?  Or – ”

“Enough!”  He interjects and holds his hand up as though to silence her.  “Your scientists are currently resting in their rooms.”

“For how long, Loki?”  Darcy has well and truly built up a head of steam by now.  “Until we reach Iceland?  Or until you hit them with your scepter again?”  She leaps out of her seat to shake a finger at him.  “I hate to break it to you, but we puny mortals have needs – rest and food, you know.”  At that, her bladder twinges, and her mouth twists up in a wry smile.  “Or, you know, the bathroom?”

He sneers in derision.  “It is rather unfortunate, as I have found that some of your kind could be truly useful were it not for their anchors to your base animalistic form.  Your scientists, for example … rather impressive, their rather naïve and tenuous grasp of universal truths and the intellectual leaps that they can make in the name of science.  They would be considered promising junior scholars on Asgard, were it not for their propensity to require such frequent rest and sustenance … not to mention their pitifully short life-spans.”

She gasps, shocked.  “Animals!  Is that how you see us?  See Jane and Erik?  See _me_?”

Loki shrugs nonchalantly.  “It should hardly come as a surprise to you, should it?  You please me, and therefore I have provided you with shelter, food, and material comforts.  Do you mortals not do the same with your inferior species?”

_A pet_ , Darcy realizes, like a punch to the stomach.  _He thinks I’m his pet_.

“I – I – ”  She stutters, not knowing where to even begin with him.  “I don’t think – I mean, that’s not - ”

“Come now, Darcy,” he smiles, standing and reaching for her, tucking his arm around the crook of her elbow.  “Let’s get you back to the comfort of your cabin, shall we?”

“But, I,” Darcy vainly attempts to yank her arm away from his grasp.  “I’m not your pet, Loki,” she spits, struggling against his clearly superior strength.  “I am my own person, I have my own thoughts.  You don’t own me.”

“No?” he chuckles, amused at her struggle, physical or otherwise.  “Then how can this – ”

Suddenly they’re teleporting, the long rubber band stretching out and snapping –

\- And they’re back in her room on the ship, surrounded by boxes, and he lets go of her arm –

“be happening?” he finishes, opening the door behind him with a flourish.  She turns, ready to light into him, but he holds up a single elegant finger and steps back across the threshold. 

“This door now locks from the outside, Darcy.  _Do_ be a dear and stay in your room, will you?”

And he closes it, leaving her alone - and caged - with only her rage for company.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... leaves this here ...  
> ... slowly backs away ...


End file.
